


The Cave II: Shadows of the City

by masksarehot



Series: The Cave AU [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masksarehot/pseuds/masksarehot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "The Cave". It has been four years since Amon and Korra allied to take down Tarrlok. Over the past year, they have built a secret relationship on a shaky foundation of sacrifice and denial. When threats emerge from the shadows of Republic City and everything begins to fall apart, they will be forced to decide: how much are they willing to sacrifice for the sake of love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to "The Cave". It is highly recommended that you read that one first if you want this story to make a lick of sense!
> 
> As with "The Cave", this story is canon to episode 8, and AU after that. As a quick recap, in this universe:
> 
> -Amon was telling the truth about his background, which means that he is no relation to Tarrlok or Yakone, and cannot naturally resist bloodbending
> 
> -Amon is a firebender, but has only used those skills once as a child in an encounter with a gang member, who ended up killing his family in retribution
> 
> -Tarrlok went crazy with Draconian measures in Republic City; Amon & Korra teamed up to take him down
> 
> -due to an unnamed spirit's intervention, Amon's swift movement and ability to energybend were because he possessed a part of the Avatar's spirit. This unnamed spirit claimed to be an ambassador for many in the spirit world who were unhappy with the balance. Amon shattered his old mask – the link to his benefactor spirit – and relinquished the stolen Avatar powers to Korra
> 
> -After the final encounter with Tarrlok, after which Amon was assumed to be dead, Amon fled Republic City and stayed away for 3 years. Eventually, he returned using the pseudonym "Zoran", his late father's name
> 
> -once Amon returned, he and Korra hooked up again
> 
> Phew. I think that about covers it. Our story begins nearly 4 years after Tarrlok's defeat...

**Prologue**

**Blood**

Amon stepped into the shop, the wind chimes over the door jangling to announce his arrival.

"Zoran," greeted the portly merchant as he adjusted his spectacles. "What can I do for you today? A new ledger? More tea for Councillor Midori? Oh, I received a new selection of historical maps that might be just to your tastes."

"Thank you, Feng, but I'm not shopping for myself today." Amon breathed in the familiar scent of warm wood and herbs. The shop always seemed to have faint wisps of smoke floating in it, as if it had one foot in the spirit world. His eyes scanned the wooden shelves, cluttered with curios from around the world. "I'm looking for jewelry. Women's."

"Ah, I see. For a special lady?" Feng stepped around the counter and cocked his head for the other to follow him. Once they reached the far corner of the room, he lifted a dusty stack of books to reveal a glass jewelry case. Amon bent over it and stared into the mess of gems and metals, feeling completely out of his element.

"Any recommendations?"

"This style of necklace is very fashionable with the ladies these days," said the merchant, selecting a silver necklace with a small flower pendant.

Amon hesitated. "She comes from the water tribes, so a necklace might be misinterpreted."

"Ah, I see. Not ready to propose marriage just yet. Smart man. Then how about a bracelet?"

That was appropriate: something she could tuck beneath her wrist bracer, hidden but close, just like their relationship. Amon's fingers skated across the bracelets and lifted one that caught his eye: a broad silver cuff etched with curling scrolls.

"That one isn't very feminine," cautioned the merchant.

"I disagree. What is more feminine than a strong foundation with highlights of subtle grace?" Amon flipped over the price tag to read it and nearly dropped the bracelet back into the case. "I'll give you half."

Feng laughed. "I might be able to adjust the price a bit. How special is this occasion?"

"First anniversary." Amon considered. Or was it fourth? He was never sure how to calculate the milestones of their relationship.

The man's eyebrows rose. "A whole year, and you aren't going for the necklace?"

"It is a complicated situation."

"I'm sure it is. You seem like a complicated fellow." Feng patted Amon's arm with affection. "You're a good customer, Zoran. Tell you what: buy just one more item, and I will give you twenty percent off the whole purchase."

"Thirty."

"Twenty-five. Final offer. Might I suggest some herbs?" He leaned in close. "I just got in a special batch for a client, and I'd be happy to give you a sample. I think you'd find it worth examining. It's an oil mixture used by monks in ancient times – tradition says it helped them forget their corporeal selves. Opened them to the spirit world."

"Now why would I want to do that?" mused Amon.

"You have had a strong interest in the spirit world for quite some time, have you not?"

"Yes, and I've had just enough interaction with it to know that I only ever want to experience it in the form of printed words. Peddle your drugs elsewhere, Feng."

There an uneasy edge to the shopkeeper's smile. "Very well. Then how about some performance-enhancing herbs to give your lady friend the night of her life?"

Amon shot him a sharp look. "Now you're just being insulting."

"No offense meant, Zoran. By all means, please look around for something more to your tastes."  
Amon nodded and began to scan the shelves. His eyes landed on a cage containing black mask that looked strangely familiar. He pointed. "May I see that mask?"

"Oh." Feng looked uncomfortable. "Very well." He pulled out a hooked pole and detached the cage from the roof, dropping it into Amon's hands. Buried beneath a bed of feathered masquerade masks were three black masks made of wood.

Amon lifted one, his thumb running over the dark surface. "The shape looks like Amon's mask."

"Indeed - it's leftover propaganda. Rich Equalist supporters used to wear these to their fancy costume parties."

He looked up, surprised. "They used to dress as Amon?"

With a nod, the merchant said, "It was particularly popular in the festival season after his death."

"I had no idea," said Amon honestly, not sure whether to be amused or taken aback. He had gone to great lengths to make himself a symbol, but costumes smacked of extreme idolatry or farce, and neither made him comfortable. "Why are they black?"

"Ah, right, I suppose you were out of the city during that time. Councillor Midori banned all Equalist propaganda as a part of her bid to integrate the Equalists with the Council. I thought maybe if I dipped them in black paint, I could still legally sell them, but I can't move these last three."

Amon considered. He missed wearing a mask, and though she didn't say it, he knew that Korra sometimes missed his mask as well. It might be fun to surprise her. "I may take one, in case I have any costume parties to attend." Without any hint of irony, he added, "I can do a decent Amon impression."

"With a voice like that, I'm sure you can. Tell you what: take all three for the price of one."

"What am I going to do with three black Amon masks?"

Feng shifted his stance, his face uneasy. "All three for half the price of one, and twenty-five percent off the bracelet."

"That desperate to get rid of them?"

"Well, between you and me, there's a group of people in this town who truly hate Amon's memory. People that I wouldn't want to anger when they come by the shop, if you catch what I'm saying. I keep forgetting to put those damned masks away, and I spend each visit praying my visitors won't look up."

Amon's jaw clenched. Gang activity in the city was on the rise, and the thought of gangs bullying the kindly merchant made his blood boil. Setting his satchel on the counter, he counted out several folded notes and passed them to the man.

The transaction completed, he slid the masks and bracelet into his satchel, called his farewell and stepped outside the door. The street was surprisingly empty for mid-afternoon, and several shops were closing up early. Even when they weren't openly walking around, the gangs were harming businesses, the ghosts of fear haunting innocent people. His brows furrowed as he began to walk down the block.

The shops gave way to a row of houses, small businesses that also doubled as living quarters for downtrodden families. The cobblestone here was worn, grass poking between the broken stones. Amon's nose wrinkled; the stench of garbage that wafted from the alleyways was stronger today than usual. He had just started to turn off the street when a scream caught his attention.

In front of one of the houses stood a man speaking to a young girl. The girl was maybe eight, her dark hair in pigtails. Amon recognized her as a girl who usually sat in the garden, yellow eyes alight as she played with a doll made out of a knotted sock. Every day he had passed by, she had reminded him of the sister he might have had, the one taken from him in her infancy. Today, however, she was all young Amon. Her fists were on her hips, and as the man took a step toward her, she let out a bloodcurdling shriek of resistance. Passersby gave them a wide berth, no one looking directly at them.

Amon tilted his head and began to pad toward them, observing. The girl's clothes were tattered and her bare feet were braced in a fighting stance that looked to be firebender posture.

"I just want to talk to your father," said the man, his voice heavy with impatience.

"No! You're going to hurt him again." The girl held her hands in front of her. Definitely firebender posture. Behind her, a man with slumped shoulders hobbled out of the house and tried to pull her inside, but her stubbornness held her fast.

Amon came to a standstill twenty feet from them, his throat suddenly tight. The scene was far too familiar for comfort.

"Your payment is long overdue," said the threatening man to the little girl's father.

"Please, I cannot pay you today."

In Amon's mind's eye, he saw his own father begging for mercy. Heat flickered in his chest.

"Leave him alone!" screamed the girl, and she blasted a bolt of fire at the man.

The man grinned, easily dodging, and then he clawed his hand into the air.

The girl shrieked. Her legs twitched as her feet left the ground. Puppet-like, her body began to float and contort. Her father howled.

"Do something," whispered Amon, waiting for the father to intervene.

"Pay me," said the bloodbender. "I wouldn't want to hurt her too badly."

"Please! I'm telling you, I can't. Don't hurt her." Amon could tell by the fear in the man's voice that he was not going to stand up against his daughter's attacker.

The bloodbender grinned and clenched his fist, and blood trickled from the girl's mouth.

Amon dropped his satchel and bolted to the attacker's side. Six blows to the flank hit the bloodbender before he knew anyone was on him. He whirled, dropping the girl, but Amon was already on his other side. Six more jabs and the man was completely disabled. A holler of frustration left the man's mouth as he began to sag toward to the cobblestone.

Out of long-unused instinct, Amon's hand clamped onto the back of the bloodbender's neck, pushing him to his knees.

"You dare to use bloodbending," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "And on a child. You are pathetic."

The man turned to spit at him. Amon dodged and punched a finger into the man's neck in retribution, eliciting a scream and a sob.

"Listen closely." Amon's grip tightened on the other's neck and he leaned close to his ear, using the deepest timbre of his voice. "You will not abuse your bending like this again, or there will be consequences."

The man was gasping hard, sweat and tears trickling down his face. "Like what?" His eyes were white all the way around the irises. "You'll take my bending?"

_He figured out who I am._ Though he managed to keep his face impassive, Amon's heart seized. He tossed the man to the ground and stood. "Do not follow me, and do not touch them again. I won't hold back next time."

The girl and her father had run inside. The streets were deserted, though eyes peered out of cracked doors and shutters. Amon's lips curled. Too much fear. He should not have been the only one fighting back.

He stormed back to his satchel. One of the masks had spilled out; he shoved it back into the bag, hoping no one had seen it. It reminded him of all he had given up. Once upon a time, he could have decisively ended this bender's tyranny. Now all he had were words and empty threats. His greatest threat, his identity, wasn't even one he was free to utilize.

Footsteps sounded from behind, running. The bloodbender was trying to charge at his back. Amon listened; at the last second, he flattened to the ground and spun, taking out his attacker's legs. The bloodbender flew over him, crashing into a wall. Amon swooped at the man and drove his palm into the other's face, slamming his head back against the wall once, twice. The man slid to the ground, unconscious, leaving a smear of crimson on the wall. Blood from his nose began to trickle down his face, and the colour faded from his skin.

Amon stood in front of the fallen man, hunched over, and struggled to catch his breath. He hadn't meant to hit him so hard.

Sirens began to sound in the background; one of the neighbours must have called the police.

Standing tall, Amon brushed off his robes, then slung the satchel over his shoulder. Every instinct told him to flee, but he knew that becoming a fugitive was no longer an option – he had a new life now. He held up his hands as the first car arrived, offering himself up for questioning.

In his mind, he was already drafting a speech for Midori to deliver to the Council. Maybe he couldn't fight against the benders as Amon anymore, but he would do what he could as Zoran.

 


	2. I: Blocked

**I**

**Blocked**

Amon settled into his chair alongside the other Councillor assistants and tapped his thick stack of papers against the table to straighten them.

"Another big presentation from the Equalists?" asked Sun, the Earth Kingdom assistant, lip curled. "What is it this time, special tax breaks for non-benders?"

He raised a brow at her from underneath his hood, and then turned back to his papers. Though he had triple-checked them late the night before – and early into the morning – he began to flip through them again. Seeing she was being ignored, the Earth Kingdom assistant leaned closer.

"Well, you picked a good day to do it. I heard that the Avatar is finally back from Ba Sing Se."

He pretended to ignore her, but excitement kindled in his stomach. He had never considered himself to be a needy person, given that he had spent most of his life aloof and alone, but four weeks without Korra had felt like an eternity. Now that they both had a role within the Council, he was accustomed to seeing her nearly every day of the week – though the majority of that was time spent pretending there was nothing between them. The nights, however, were theirs, and they had been spending them together with increasing frequency. That night, in particular, was one he had big plans for – though his need was growing desperate enough that he wasn't sure he had the patience to wait. The instant he clamped eyes on her, he was sure, every fibre of his body would be screaming at him to march up to her and kiss her in front of the entire Council, secrets be damned.

Sun leaned closer still. "So, I heard a rumour that you were up to some fun last night."

He stiffened and turned to stare at her. She smirked. His mind whirled with a million responses, but a voice interrupted before he gave in to the temptation to speak:

"Zoran." Midori was walking up to him, her heels clacking against the marble. "Can I speak to you?"

He stood, tucked the files under his arm and followed her into the hallway. It was only when they were out of earshot from the others that he spoke, his voice low:

"The proposal is on page three. The first two are answers to the questions they are likely to ask, and the last pages are the speech. Use the speech only if they refuse the proposal outright. If they need time to consider, then use the closing argument from the final page."

"Wait, slow down," she said. Normally they had several days to prepare for the Equalist party to have the floor, but this proposal had been rushed.

Amon held out the papers for her. "Just take a moment to flip through it – it's self-explanatory. Remember to use more hand gestures. They won't trust you if you come across as wooden."

Her lips pursed at him, no doubt disapproving of his condescension, but she accepted the papers and flipped through them. "Did you sleep?"

"Not at all. You?"

She shook her head, running a hand through her salt-and-pepper hair. "I was on the phone with Chief Beifong until the wee hours of the morning."

"And?"

"And you aren't in jail, so that's something." She sighed. "I didn't get very far. I'll keep working at it. You're going to be the death of me."

"Maybe so, but I'm also going to get you noticed if you play these cards right." He tapped the papers in her hand. "Don't forget: hand gestures."

"I liked it better when I was behind the scenes and you were doing the speaking," she muttered, marching back toward the hall. He followed, silently agreeing.

As he entered the hall, his gaze locked to the centre of the Council table.

Korra had arrived.

Trying to be as stealthy as possible, he glanced at her, taking in her traditional Earth Kingdom-style green dress, accessorized up-do and heavy makeup. His mouth went dry and his palms grew damp, and he chastised himself for reacting like a schoolboy in love. She was chatting earnestly with the Councillor from the Earth Kingdom, no doubt spinning her words with the diplomatic flair that she was cultivating. Amon himself had been coaching her recently, teaching her the poise that created a commanding presence. If he could no longer lead, then the least he could do was help others develop their leadership skills.

She looked up and caught his eye. They had grown adept at giving platonic nods of greeting, colleagues and nothing more. Today, however, her head ducked away without acknowledging him. Puzzling. His brows pinched as he returned to his seat.

"The Avatar looks stunning," whispered Sun, who had apparently noticed his admiration. He shot her a disapproving look to silence her.

Tenzin called the meeting to order, and Amon opened his ledger and began to write. His note-taking was more for show than anything – Midori had an eidetic memory, and his writing was impossible for her to read anyhow. Often, he ended up drafting speeches and proposals for future use, but today he could not concentrate. He caught himself staring idly at Korra, trying to read the furrow in her brow. She still wouldn't look at him.

After several agenda items that held no interest to him, Midori was called to the floor. As she began to speak, Amon leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped in front of his mouth. The proposal to aggressively hunt down the Red Monsoons was counter to the Council's current pro-peace stance, and his eyes trailed across the members, judging their reactions. Councillor Tenzin, as expected, looked horrified, but the others seemed to be listening – except Korra. Her eyes were downcast, her blinks so infrequent that he could tell her mind was nowhere near the meeting. His heart twinged.

The coaching he had been giving Midori was paying off – as she spoke, her voice strengthened, her hands open to her audience. He smiled to himself as the Council members leaned forward in response.

"...and given that Red Monsoon activity has been escalating in the city's east side, including the use of bloodbending-"

"Bloodbending?" Tenzin stood. "That has never been proven."

There was a scripted response to that on page two, but instead Midori shook her head. "My assistant witnessed it himself just last night."

A bad card to play. Amon cursed under his breath.

As expected, Tenzin did not let it slide: "Yes, we have all heard about Zoran's...legal troubles."

Every eye in the room snapped onto him. Even Korra jolted to attention, looking at him with confusion. He held her gaze, using the calm stare he had practice for years, not changing his posture lest he give anything away.

"Legal troubles?" said the Earth Kingdom representative. "Don't sugarcoat it – he nearly killed a man!"

Across the room, Korra's eyes widened. She tilted her head at him, brows pinched, and he could almost hear her demand:  _is this true?_ Unable to bear the hurt he saw in her eyes, he looked away.

Midori, faithful until the end, stepped forward. "Hold your tongue, Song! He was defending a helpless child who was being bloodbent-"

"Every single witness rejects that story, Councillor Midori."

"Because they are afraid of retribution! And that is why we must act." Her voice rose, and Amon closed his eyes. The situation was escalating too quickly; the proposal was slipping through their fingers. Emotion would be seen as irrational and would bring about a knee-jerk deferral of the proposal, and muddying it with his name was only making things worse. He could turn this around if only he could speak, but the risk that he would be recognized by his public speaking voice was too great.

Tenzin folded his arms over his chest. "Zoran aside, I find it strangely convenient that the Red Monsoons happen to be the focus of this proposal, given the Equalist history with the Red Monsoons during the war, when Amon took the bending of two-dozen members-"

"Amon is dead," said Midori through clenched teeth, "and the old Equalist movement died with him. Do not make the mistake of associating the new with the old. The Red Monsoons are increasing their attacks – they have nearly doubled their membership in the past year, by our estimates – and they need to be stopped. My goal is only to protect the non-benders who cannot defend themselves against these monsters."

"Meeting violence with violence is not the way things are done in this city," said Tenzin.

Midori's face turned beet red. "Given my history of working against this city, I think I know a thing or two about what it takes to stop it!" she snapped, the final nail in the coffin.

Amon couldn't bear to watch anymore. He grabbed his bag, excused himself from his table and left the hall.

.*.*.*.

Korra intended to wait until a formal recess to look for Amon, but grew impatient as the Councillors began to bicker. Her patience was already limited due to problems of her own, and curiosity about Amon's so-called legal trouble was overwhelming her attention span. Quietly murmuring an apology to her neighbours, she dismissed herself from the meeting room.

The kitchen and the lounge were both empty. She finally found him in the training room; he was in the middle of exercises, and didn't notice her. For a moment, she let herself forget her anxiety, leaned against the door frame and waited – she told herself it was to analyze his mood before she spoke to him, though it was partly to feast her eyes on the man she had been separated from for a month.

His back to her, Amon lunged between two training dummies, ricocheting between them and driving his knuckles up their lengths. In the four years that had passed since he had given up his airbending abilities, he had trained hard enough to recover most of the speed he had lost. She loved to watch him fight. What had been terrifying as his opponent was awe-inspiring as his ally. While she was all about raw power, he was all grace and speed.

Her admiration disappeared when he spun and gripped one of the dummies by the back of the neck, driving his thumb into its forehead.

Equalizing it.

His eyes closed as if savouring the moment. Then he stepped back and stared at his hands, his mouth twisted in a frown. Anxiety blossomed in Korra's chest so violently that it choked her.

_He misses it._

She cleared her throat against the sudden tightness. "Zoran," she called, the name foreign on her tongue.

"Korra?" His arms jerked away from the dummy as if guilty. "We can't be seen together."

"Yeah, don't remind me." She stepped into the room and folded her arms over her chest. "I'm only gone for four weeks, and you kill a man?"

"He will recover." He turned to face her, his face so carefully impassive that he might as well have been wearing his old mask. "It's risky for us to speak here."

"Everyone's still brainstorming what to do about the Red Monsoons. We have a minute." She stood before him, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "What's going on with you, Amon? You're attacking gang members, proposing violent strikes, energybending dummies..."

"Ah, so you did see that." His eyes closed. "A child stood up to a member of the Red Monsoons who was threatening her father. Their leader used bloodbending on her, right there in broad daylight, and not one single person intervened. He might have killed her had I not stepped in."

The passion behind his reaction made a lot of sense, given his personal history, but she had never known him to resort to knee-jerk violence before. His reactions to provocation were usually far more elegant. "I didn't think the Red Monsoons ended up being bloodbenders."

"At least one of them is, which means there are likely more." He looked down at his hands again. "And since I can no longer solve the problem myself, I must rely on the Council's inefficient channels. I don't see the point in sitting around trying to legislate these criminals to death when we could be taking them out ourselves."

"I understand your frustrations. Bureaucracy is infuriating." Her clenched jaw relaxed a little. "But we have to play by the Council's rules if Republic City is to stay peaceful." Her hands longed to clasp over his, but she was certain he would only yank them away and chastise her for showing affection in public.

"And what of you, Korra?" he said. "I saw in your eyes that something is troubling you as well."

Her anxiety flooded over her so abruptly that she shuddered. "I need to talk to you about something important. But not here."

There was concern in his yellow eyes, barely visible beneath his hood. "Something happened in Ba Sing Se?"

She hesitated. "Come by tonight. We'll talk."

"It must be bad," he said softly, "if you don't wish to discuss it here."

Her shoulders slumped. "I could really use a hug," she whispered. "I've needed one for days. I need to feel your body against mine."

The words seemed to agitate him; he let out a sharp sigh. "We can't-"

"I know," she interrupted crossly. Though she was aware that he had sacrificed far more for their relationship than she, it was getting more and more maddening that he wouldn't even consider slowly building a scripted, carefully-controlled public relationship between Zoran and the Avatar, some semblance of normalcy between them. It was easier for him: he had lived half-truths for most of his life, carefully guarding his privacy. She was accustomed to wearing her heart on her sleeve, and after a year of hiding in the shadows, she was aching to be a real, public couple. Especially now.

Her distress must have shown on her face and convinced him, because Amon's expression softened. He quickly scanned the room, then gripped her hand and led her to the corner, safely out of view of the door.

"Here." His arms tightened around her, broad and muscled. She sank against his chest and let her eyes slip closed, inhaling his scent. Yes, this helped greatly.

He kissed the top of her head, his breaths warm in her hair, and the sense of comfort began to evolve. Tingles ran down her scalp and flooded her body, washing away any thoughts of topics that needed discussing or gang members or politics. Instead, she began to realize how much she had missed being close to him. She pulled him flush against her, certain that she was pushing the boundaries too far and he would pull away.

Instead, his hands lifted her jaw and he covered her mouth with his. The kiss started out innocently, but quickly deepened out of control, hands clawing into each other's hair. Amon subtly pressed his thigh between her legs, applying pressure until it was all she could do not to grind against him; her lower body began to glow.

He broke away, trailing his lips up to her ear. "Four weeks without you," he breathed. His thigh subtly shifted, and electricity shot through her torso. Well, two could play that game: she stepped in closer, her leg rubbing subtly against him as well, but the plan backfired when the movement revealed that he was just as aroused as she was. Her eyes threatened to roll back into her head.

"Amon," she said, and she was embarrassed by how throaty her voice was. "What are we doing?"

"Letting our ache for each other overcome our reason." He stepped away from her. "This is dangerous."

"It is." And yet, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his embrace. Running a finger down his chest, she said, "You know what would be even more dangerous?"

He raised an inquisitive brow at her.

She cocked her head at the storage closet.

His eyes widened, and she was certain she was about to get a lecture about maintaining their cover.

"We can be quiet," she said, before he had a chance to protest. "And fast."

He barely hesitated. "You're a terrible influence, Korra." He gripped her hand and led her to the closet. The door gave way; they slid it closed behind them.

For a moment, they stood in the darkness, perfectly still. She wondered if, like she, he were trying to wrap his head around the idea that they were actually going to do this.

"The emphasis was on 'fast,'" she whispered. Her hand reached for his, clung to it and pulled him in. They blindly fumbled for one another. In the frenzy, Korra slammed her elbow into a metal pole and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from yelping, but quickly forgot her discomfort when Amon lifted her by the hips and pressed her into the wall. She tugged her dress above to her waist and wrapped her legs around him as he yanked down his pants.

Finally they were one again. A soft slew of pleased curses slipped from her lips, and she felt him grin against her ear.

"I had forgotten how dirty I can make that mouth of yours." His voice was barely a whisper. "If you aren't quiet, I'm going to have to muzzle you."

A quiver ran down her spine. "I'd like to see you try," she replied, nipping at his earlobe, enjoying feeling his body tense in response. She whispered a few choice filthy phrases, teasing him, and then gave a small grunt of surprise when his hand clamped over her mouth.

"I warned you, Avatar," he growled, using the threatening tone that had given her nightmares once upon a time. Every hair on her body stood on end. Normally she would have fought back, but warmth was already rippling through her body in time with his movements. She bit into his hand instead and was pleased to hear his breath catch.

A faint layer of sweat was forming between them in the muggy closet, and his natural scent was fogging her mind. Breaking free from his hand, she pushed back his hood and raked her hands into his hair, kissing him so fiercely that his teeth dug into the corners of her lips. She could feel every muscle in his body tense, and knew he was close. A moan was building in her throat, and she wondered how much longer she was going to be able to restrain it.

Amon stopped.

_No!_  Not when they were so close. She arched against him, but he gripped her shoulder to lock her in place, and she realized he was holding his breath.

Clacking heels echoed in the training room.

Even though sweat was trailing down her face, tickling her nose, Korra didn't dare move to brush it away. Instead, she breathed a small, subtle puff of frost, cooling the air between them.

"Zoran?" called Midori.

Korra's ears strained so much that they began to ring, waiting for the footsteps that would indicate that the woman was leaving. They did not come.

"She's waiting for me to return," breathed Amon into her ear. "My bag is still out there."

Korra gritted her teeth, frustrated. At first, she was going to suggest that they out-wait the Councillor, but sweat was starting to bead on her upper lip, and the thought of potentially annoying Amon by doing more bending to cool them was not one she relished. The other option was to continue as quietly as possible, but the stakes were higher now that a thin door was all that separated them from a potential audience.

Not that it mattered anymore, anyway. Her high had already faded.

With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her legs to the floor and tugged his hood back into place as he straightened his tunic.

"Now the wait until tonight is going to be even more agonizing than before," she whispered. So much for her brilliant idea.

"When the time comes, it will be explosive." He caught her lips in a deep, long kiss, then turned and opened the door.

.*.*.*.

Amon stepped into the training room, shutting the closet door behind him. The Councillor sat on a bench beside his satchel, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over her chest.

"Midori," he greeted, injecting surprise into his voice.

"Doing some training?" she asked.

"Venting some frustration."

"I bet." She pursed her lips. "Venting frustration. In the closet."

He glanced back at it, searching for an excuse, but his mind was still sluggish with arousal. "Needed more training dummies – two just isn't enough of a challenge."

"Which is, of course, why you came out empty-handed."

"There were none to be found." He felt oddly as if he were on trial.

Her eyelids drooped, disapproving. "You can come out, Avatar," she called.

_Great._  Amon pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at his own carelessness.

There was a small cough, then Korra stepped out of the closet, fully-clothed, but hair ruffled and cheeks crimson. She cleared her throat and hurried past without acknowledging either of them. Amon felt a glow rise to his cheeks as well.

Once they were alone, Midori said, "Four weeks is an awfully long time."

He shook his head. "Half a day after being interrupted will feel even longer."

"Then I'd better keep an eye on you to make sure you don't throw yourselves at each other in the middle of the Council table." She let out an exasperated huff. "I like Korra, but sometimes your love for her makes you stupider than a sack of bricks. That's going to get you into real trouble some day."

"Not one of my brighter decisions, to be sure," he said, hoping that agreement would cut short her lecture, but she was still going:

"You do realize how lucky you are that I was the one who caught you? It would be a shame to undo a year of perfect secrecy for the sake of one quick tryst in the closet."

"Are you done?" he asked dryly.

"I could rant about this all day, if you let me."

"Then I won't." He lifted his head, finally looking her in the eye. "There are more important things to discuss. The proposal collapsed after I left, didn't it?"

Her expression fell, fine wrinkles lining the corners of her mouth. "It collapsed long before that. I am sorry, Zoran. I was too emotional."

"You always were the heart of the Equalists," he said, trying not to show his disappointment. He squeezed her shoulder. "Your emotion is one of your strongest assets. I should have taken it into account, but the whole proposal was so rushed..." He had cobbled it together in the few sleepless hours between his release from police custody and the Council meeting. "We'll have to think of another way. Maybe Korra will have some ideas. I'll discuss it with her tonight." After whatever serious talk she needed to have with him, at any rate. It couldn't be anything too serious, if her actions in the closet were any indication of her mood. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the flood of tempting imagery that lingered in his mind.

Outside, a bell sounded in the clock tower. Midori stood. "The session is starting up again. Will you join us?"

Amon shook his head no. "My temper is too heated. I'm not going to be able to keep silent." He had already foolishly let his guard down once that day; he wasn't about to do it again. Above all else, his identity had to remain a secret.

"Very well. I'll debrief you tomorrow." She stood and held up a threatening finger: "Don't do anything stupid. I suggest you lay low for a couple days while all of this blows over. No more sex in closets. You're supposed to be the strategist here: act like it."

.*.*.*.

Midori's words repeated over and over in his mind as he stepped into the street. Her shock was understandable. Every move he had ever made had been carefully planned and calculated, but lately, he felt as if his self-control were slipping. Part of it, he was certain, was the slow burn of repressed resentment. So much had changed four years ago, once he had met Korra and learned more about the spirit's ulterior motives for him, and he had been carefully denying himself the right to mourn all he had lost. It was eating away at him, and lately, he was wondering if it was beginning to drive him mad.

The sun was bright in Republic City, the scent of hot stone and tar heavy in the air. A slight breeze wended down the streets from the harbour, bringing with it the scent of saltwater and seaweed. Amon doubted he would ever again smell that scent without remembering the moments before his death at the hands of Tarrlok. If nothing else, it kept him alert.

He walked down the street, feeling like a shadow rippling between passersby. For so many years, he had only been above ground on his own terms, his mask drawing all eyes to him. Now, he was just another man in fire nation garb, shadowed cowl hiding most of his scars from the world. He doubted anyone would have noticed the scars even if he had gone barefaced; people in Republic City didn't make eye contact with one another, no doubt afraid of provoking violence. The gang issue was getting out of control.

His rented room was down the street, but as with the previous night, his feet carried him through the park and down a block, past Feng's store. At the end of the row of shops was the house from the night before. It was a small house with a blue door, paint flaking and streaked with black mould. The yard was small inside the rickety white fence, but it contained a lovingly manicured lawn. There was no young lass in the garden today.

An elderly woman emerged from the house and stormed up the walk. "You! Get out of here." Her face was twisted in a sneer.

Amon studied her. "I wanted to make sure the little girl was okay. I was here when-"

"Yes, I remember you. Go away!" He saw now that her eyes were red.

He stared at her, not understanding. The woman leaned close, her nose almost pressing to his, and he smelled alcohol on her breath.

"They came back for her father," she said. "You provoked them! They came for revenge."

Amon's blood froze. "I did not intend to provoke. I only meant to save the girl."

The woman was wailing now, and people around them were beginning to stare: "They killed him! My son is dead. My son..."

A younger woman hurried out of the house, dressed in black, her eyes rimmed with red as well. She gripped the elderly woman's shoulders, shushing her, and turned to lead her back to the house.

He felt the eyes of passersby on him, but he could not tear his gaze from the young widow. The world around him hazed, dreamlike; his periphery narrowed and the sounds around him muted. Nothing existed but him and those whose lives he had inadvertently destroyed.

"I am sorry," he said. "I promise you, I was only trying to save your daughter."

The woman looked back, her lip quivering and her eyes lined with tears. "You should know better," she scolded. "We cannot fight back, or it will only make things worse."

His jaw clenched. "Amon and the Equalists fought back, and it helped for a time."

"Amon is dead," said the woman, "and the Equalists and the Council do nothing. What chance do we have?"

She turned and led the older woman into the house. He stood staring at the closed door, and his hands curled into fists.


	3. II: Visits & Visions

**II**

**Visits & Visions**

The sun was just setting as Amon hid along the edge of the cliff, waiting for the Order of the White Lotus guard's footsteps to pass by. By now, this pathway was so routine that he could tell which guard was on duty by the number of steps it took to reach the bend - and he counted, every time. Even though he had been out of combat for four years, Amon had never stopped constantly analyzing his surroundings, treating all around him as a potential foe. Thirty-six steps; it was the young one, then. Good. He was the easiest to stealth behind. Amon noiselessly swung above the lip of the cliff and began to trail him. As they passed near Korra's room, Amon took a sharp right and, waiting until the guard was out of sight, climbed the bramble to the ledge below her window.

Her shutters were open, stained red by the sun, but she was absent. Usually, she waited for him at the ledge, a huge smile on her face, as if his presence alone were enough to make her entire day. He tried not to let her absence concern him - perhaps she and Tenzin were still debriefing after the Council session, or dinner was taking longer than usual. Still, he dreaded sitting alone in her dark room waiting for her, where he would have no-one to keep him company but his thoughts. The widow's words were still haunting him:

_What chance do we have?_

He reached the top of the bluff beneath Korra's window, then carefully edged through the bushes, careful not to make any noise. He slung his satchel into the room and then lifted himself over the ledge, pulling the shutters closed behind him.

The room was dimly lit, red light from the sunset leaking through the shutter cracks, so he could just barely make out a dark shape on the edge of the bed.

"Korra?" he whispered.

A small flame, like a candle, flickered in her open palm, and she sent it to hover at the ceiling. "Amon." She forced a smile, but the edges quivered, and she wiped her palms on her pants.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to not let his worry sound in his voice.

Her expression crumpled and she buried her face in her hands.

"Korra, it's okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me." He sank onto the bed beside her and gathered her close, smoothing her hair. Instead of melting into him as she usually did, she was rigid in his arms.

"It's late," she said.

The bluntness of the words surprised him. He pulled away. "This is the time we usually meet, so I assumed-"

She cut him off. "No, Amon. I mean: it's late."

He stared.

"My cycle," she added.

He opened his mouth, but no words would come. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't think anything. The walls of the room began to close in on him.

"It could be stress from your travels," he managed.

"It was already late when I left for Ba Sing Se." She looked down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "And we haven't exactly been very careful lately."

He felt as if he had been jerked sideways out of his body and was watching the scene play out from a distance. Pressing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, he tried to centre himself. She was correct. It had been getting harder and harder to resist the urge to stay joined as long as possible when they were intimate. On more than one occasion, he had failed to be as vigilant as he needed to be – just one more way that his self-control had been lapsing lately. He supposed it was his fault, not hers, but he found himself too numb to feel guilt.

Instead, he defaulted to strategic thinking: a safe, logical place where emotions were not involved. This could severely compromise them, he reasoned. Between the importance of Korra's reputation and his anonymity, it was a political nightmare. They would need to develop a cover story, figure out the most favourable way to explain it. Maybe her idea to start a public relationship between Zoran and the Avatar was the best option – but then how could his all-important anonymity withstand a lifetime tied to her very public persona? His mind whirled.

"Say something," she pleaded.

"When will you know?"

"When I get to a doctor, I guess. But I'm worried about rumours. I need to find a doctor who can be trusted to keep a secret."

"Midori can help us find one." She was the only one who knew about the relationship, the only one they could trust. Oh, Spirits, Midori was going to flay him for this.

"Midori can help? Is she that well-connected?" asked Korra.

"She may have been a higher-ranking Equalist than you've been led to believe."

"I see." Korra was squinting at him as if waiting for a specific response. "Are you okay, Amon?"

"Are you?" he deflected.

"Of course not!" Her jaw quivered again. "I'm not ready for motherhood. I have more than a hundred more years left in me, two hundred if I'm lucky – it's too early to start thinking about children. And Republic City is still such a mess. I can't run around saving the world if there's a kid tagging along!" A tear spilled onto her cheek.

Amon didn't know how to respond. He took in several long breaths through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, as if he were meditating.

"I can't tell how you're reacting to this," she said, scrutinizing his face.

Neither could he.

During the long silence that followed, music began to sound from a neighbouring room, the soft wail of a violin accented by the warm crackle of radio static. Amon's throat tightened. The music was puncturing his defenses, letting emotions leak into him. He did not want to feel.

"I need to know you're with me on this, no matter how it turns out," said Korra. "I need to know you'll stay." The light outside had faded to dusk, and she was barely visible now, her blue eyes glinting in the glow that remained. For some reason, it was that fading light that finally made anxiety erupt in his chest. He reached for her, desperate to know that she wasn't fading with it.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, echoing his thoughts.

At the words, his emotions came crashing down on him. He crushed her against him, and buried his face in her hair. They were on a precipice looking over the edge: it was all about to change. Their private relationship. His anonymity. Her reputation. His carefully packaged denial that the woman he loved was a bender, and, even more, his denial that he was a bender himself. There was not one facet of their lives that this would not touch. What did this mean for their relationship, for their future? He clung to her as if she could stop him from plummeting, as if she could anchor him in the recent past.

"Just one more night," he heard himself say. "Let everything be normal for one more night."

"Before it all changes," she agreed. Her lips found his, soft and gentle, and he let himself sink into them. He wrapped his mind in the hot, damp space between their mouths, where the rhythmic pulse of their breaths merged. His hands tugged her hair free from its bounds; it was silky and warm around his fingers, and the scent of vanilla slid over his nose and tongue

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you, Korra," he breathed against her lips. Words that too often went unsaid between them. He needed her to know, needed her to understand.

"Always," she replied. Her eyes, cerulean and bright even in the dim light, held his. He traced a line across her collarbone, between her breasts, and down her stomach, but as he crossed below her bellybutton, he froze.

Beneath his hand, a life was forming, or it was not. His fingertips were inches from their fate.

His hand began to tremble.

Korra rescued him, catching his wrist and guiding him to her hip. "No, Amon. Don't think about it yet." Her other hand wound into the neck of his tunic to anchor him against her. Slowly, she lowered him back to the bed, crawling over top of him. Her hand caught his jaw and tilted it; her kisses edged down his throat. As she began to use her teeth, nipping and tugging his skin, he revelled in the mix of titillation and pain. This was what he needed: to be grounded. To feel strong, concrete sensations that would drown out his emotions.

The music from the neighbouring room changed, its wails and swells filled with bittersweet optimism. Latching onto the mood, Amon rolled Korra onto her back, then rose to his feet and held out a hand. She accepted it and stood.

Half-dancing, he spun her into his front in time to the music, and she yelped with surprise. He caught her from behind and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. He did not intend to linger, but there was an unexpected scent there, where vanilla had gathered from her loose hair and melded with the scent of her skin. His hands kneaded her breasts, and all thought melted away.

Her head slowly rolled back to fall against his shoulder, the cadence of her breaths increasing, until she gave a whimper and detached herself from his arms. She pulled her shirt over her head and unwound her chest wrapping. He never tired of taking her in as she unveiled the divots and curves of her muscled body, and he took a moment to admire the flexing lines along her shoulders and upper back.

But when she turned, her eyes were downcast.

He caught her jaw and smoothed his thumb along her cheek. "One more night," he whispered, dusting a faint kiss across the tip of her nose. "Focus on this. On us."

She nodded and gave him a half-smile as she began to unbutton the front of his tunic.

"I missed the feeling of your bare skin on mine," she whispered – he could tell she was trying hard to sustain the mood – and she spread the cloth to reveal his chest. Her breasts pressed against him, full and smooth and warm, and the tenderness he had been feeling began to evolve, to burn. He shrugged the tunic from his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her. Her heat made his skin crawl with a desire that was almost desperate. He wrapped himself in the sensation.

Together they removed the remainder of his clothes, then hers. She gripped his hands and stood before him, and he couldn't resist taking another long look at her, studying every inch of her beauty.

"Four weeks," he said. "I want to show you how much I missed you."

Her gaze trailed down his body, and a pleased smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I can already see how much you missed me, Amon."

"Then I want you to  _feel_ it."

A hum sounded in her throat, almost a growl.

Then she caught him off guard: she pounced.

He caught her thighs on reflex, barely staying upright as her legs wrapped around his waist. Clawed hands raked into his hair, her kiss so ravenous that it dragged a long groan out of him. Her mouth was startlingly cold, then warm again, and he shivered, enjoying the contrast even though he knew she was using bending.

He staggered across the room and slammed her against the wall. Holding her biceps, he pinned her in place and then drove into her. Her shuddering moan filled his mouth, then she gripped his arms as well, her grip almost painful. Her kisses grew sloppier, frantic.

His need for her was growing violent, and he locked eyes with her to reassure himself that his movements weren't too rough. Her lids were heavy and her lips were curled in a growl, her expression so feral that all his muscles began to twitch.

Then she threw her head back with a silent scream and her body quaked. Oh Spirits, she was so beautiful... He held out as long as he could, hanging on to every second of her pleasure. The instant her body relaxed, he broke free from her and let himself go under. He dimly felt her hand clap over his mouth to muffle the yell he couldn't hold back.

Slowly, he became aware of his tingling limbs, his ragged breaths, her hand on his cheek. He blindly let her guide him into a soft kiss, then rested his forehead against hers. Her skin, like his, was dewy and warm.

The neighbouring radio was playing another orchestral piece, mournful again, but this time he felt immune to its wail. Here, in her arms, everything was right.

But when his eyelids parted, he saw that her cheeks were damp. His stomach knotted.

"Everything's going to change," she said. "Isn't it?"

He didn't know how to answer. His knuckle caught one of her tears, smoothing it away.

"Tell me everything's going to be okay," she pleaded.

"Korra..." He pulled her in, rested his cheek on top of her head.

"I need to hear it."

"It's going to be okay," he said, but the words felt wrong in his mouth.

.*.*.*.

_Amon's eyes opened._

_He stood in the road, broken cobblestone spattered with red._

_Ahead of him, the small girl's eyes were full of tears and her mouth was split into a scream. Her body contorted; a thin stream of blood was already trickling from her nose. The Red Monsoon gang member stood before her, fingers arched._

_Amon began to move forward to intercept, but a woman stepped between them, hunched._

_He stared at her, trying to determine where he had seen her before. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, with flawless dark skin and thick black hair that danced around her face in a breeze he could not feel._

_"Move," he commanded._

_Her head lifted._

_His yellow eyes. Korra's nose and lopsided grin – only it was perverted, twisted into a cruel sneer._

_"You sought to rule this city," growled the woman. "Through me, you shall."_

_"No," he said. "Please-"_

_She stepped closer. "I am your legacy, Father."_

_Her fist thrust at him, and searing flames engulfed his vision._

.*.*.*.

Amon bolted upright with a yell, sweat dripping down his face; trembling fingers raked into his hair. His legs swung over the edge of the bed and he hunched over.

Korra called his name and her hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Still all adrenaline, he twisted and knocked it away.

"Amon," she said again, more firmly, and gripped his arms. "It's okay. You're awake now." Her cheek pressed between his shoulderblades, a gesture that usually soothed him after nightmares, but his heart would not slow.

Mind still heavy with the dream, he muttered, "Our child is likely to be a bender."

He felt her stiffen against his back. "Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like the words hurt you. Like being a bender is a horrible fate. I thought you were past the whole anti-bender thing."

He silently cursed himself for bringing up the topic.

As she pulled away from his back, the draft of cool air against his skin made him shiver. "You aren't past it at all," she said, "are you? That's why you get so testy whenever I bend around you."

That wasn't the entire truth – slowly, she was eroding his resistance to bending, especially when she interjected subtle temperature control tricks in the bedroom. But he couldn't claim to be fully comfortable with it. Two decades of hatred took a long time to undo.

Korra clambered across the bed to sit beside him. She hunched forward, trying to catch his gaze. "Amon, I'm the Avatar. How can you possibly love me when my entire purpose is to be a bender?"

This was the conversation he had never wanted to have. What could he say – that he loved her in spite of it? That he respected her skill and power, but was still struggling to get past the belief that bending was inherently evil? He did not respond, but she filled in the blanks anyway.

"You wish I was a non-bender."

"I didn't say that," he said.

"You still hate bending! That's why you were trying to equalize that dummy in the training room today - you miss being able to strip people of their powers." Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, horrified.

"There are still those who abuse their powers, Korra, and I can no longer stop them." He turned to her. "How can I raise a bending child? How can I trust that he or she won't become a monster, as all too many benders do?"

"All too many?" Her voice rose. "I can't believe you still think like that! It's been four years since you've found out that the spirit fed you lies-"

"And two days since I saw a bender trying to kill a defenseless child. The spirit may have used me, but its goals were sound at their core: bending is still out of balance. The world keeps proving my old ideals correct. If our child is a bender, then how do we ensure that he or she doesn't get caught up in the desire for power and join those who terrorize this city?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Hypocritical words from the man who once got caught up in power of his own, who tried to use fear to tear this city apart."

The words stabbed deep into his heart, spurring him to stand. "Do not compare me to those criminals." He enunciated carefully, his voice still low: "I started a revolution."

"With plans to escalate to war!"

Shaking his head, he said, "You had already forgiven this."

"I had, when I thought you had outgrown your anti-bending sentiments."

"'Outgrown?'" He bristled, knowing she had chosen the word to wound.

There was genuine anger in her glare and her lips were twisted into a stubborn pout. It was an expression he hadn't seen since he had betrayed her trust at the decoy base four years earlier. With a sigh, he turned away.

"This doesn't need to be a discussion," he said flatly. "It shouldn't matter."

"Obviously it does, or we wouldn't be fighting about it," she said. "And while we're voicing all ways that our relationship is so broken that we can't possibly raise a kid, just how are you expecting to parent from the shadows? I can't do this alone."

"You know I cannot draw attention to myself," he spat, finally giving in to his rising temper. "My identity must remain a secret until the day I die."

"Yes, but then how-"

"There is no choice, Korra."

Her glare deepened, but she was silent. What was there to say? They could retrace the same ground on this issue that they always did, but they both knew he was correct. Amon had to remain dead. It was the reason he never spoke a word in front of the Council, the reason they couldn't draw any attention to themselves in public - even a relationship between Zoran and the Avatar would draw too much attention for his comfort.

After a long silence, she bowed her head; he could almost feel the burst of heat as the anger dissipated from her body. "This isn't going to work, is it?"

His stomach dropped. "What?"

"Us."

He panicked. "It has to."

"Why? Because we love each other, and that should be enough?"

"Because we have both sacrificed so much to be together."  _Especially me_ , he couldn't help thinking. It was a thought he usually repressed, but the discussion was tearing away the layers of denial he had carefully built, revealing his ugliest feelings.

When Korra looked up, her eyes were glossy with tears. "And if I'm pregnant, we're going to have to sacrifice even more if we want to stay together."

What frustrated him the most was that she was correct. With a small growl, he began to pace. He felt her eyes tracking him.

"We can make this work," he said.

"How?"

"Somehow. We'll think of a way. We've already overcome a lot."

"We can make it work, but can we be happy?" she asked. "I look at Asami and Mako, or Tenzin and Pema, and their lives seem so easy compared to ours." There was a long pause. "I have access to all my past lives, Amon. You don't. So far as you're concerned, this is your only lifetime. Your one chance at happiness."

"It's almost as if you are looking for reasons why it won't work." He kept pacing, trying to think his way out of it, but the more he tried to think, the more hopeless their situation seemed.

"I'm just being realistic. Do we pretend that I'm a single mother, and order our child to never bend around you so that you won't be offended? Live in separate houses and continue sneaking around together for the rest of our lives?" Her eyes closed and she bowed her head. "Can you live with the idea that you'd never be able to treat your own child like a son or daughter in public?"

He stopped and whirled to face her, swiping his arm through the air. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy."

"But we didn't know it was going to be this hard."

He stared at her, seeing the defeat in her posture. There was only one direction this discussion could go, only one way it could conclude.

His jaw clenched. At the beginning of the relationship, she had been the one propelling them forward when he had been hesitant to continue. She had been the one to talk him out of it when he insisted that only an unhappy ending awaited them. To see her shoulders so slumped and her eyes so downcast...

He began to pull on his clothes, jerking them roughly into place.

"Wait," said Korra, her voice suddenly small. "Don't leave." She was hunched on the bed as if trying to sink into it, knees hugged to her chest. "The things I said..." She trailed off short of an apology.

"I'm finding you a doctor." He cinched his waistband and then began to tug on his boots.

She stood, clutching the corner of the sheet over her bare chest. "It has to be almost midnight."

He yanked his hood into place and stormed to the window, throwing open the shutters.

"Amon, wait. We can't end it there." She swallowed hard. "Don't leave me."

Without turning back, he said, "If you aren't actually pregnant, then this argument doesn't need to happen."

Grabbing his satchel, he vaulted over the windowsill.


	4. III: Spirits

**III**

**Spirits**

Midori was still in her Council attire when she answered the door, though the grey shirt was half-untucked and the black skirt was crooked. A glass of dark liquor was in her hand, and the lines around her eyes were deeper than usual. "Zoran?"

"I hope I didn't wake you," said Amon.

"No, not at all. Come in." She held the door open to let him pass. "You look like hell. What's going on?"

Her living room, stylishly decorated with fine furniture, was covered with scattered papers, a far cry from its usual immaculate state. Even the wooden railing of the upstairs level, overlooking the living room, was draped with charts and maps.

"Please excuse the mess. Have a seat." She walked over to the mahogany liquor cabinet. "Can I offer you a drink?"

Though Amon was certain it was a perfunctory gesture, he said, "Please." Ignoring her surprised glance, he stacked the papers on the armchair and moved them aside to sit. Most of the papers had his pseudonym on it. He would have felt guilty if he had any emotions left, but after his argument with Korra, he was drained.

"Bad enough night that you're actually having a drink? Are you all right?" said Midori, and then she added, as if to herself, "I don't even know your drink of choice."

"Neither do I."

With a shrug, she uncorked a bottle and poured dark liquid into a glass. "It might cheer you to learn that I got all charges dropped."

"That's good."

"Good? Just 'good'? Do you know how much work I had to put into this?" She handed him the glass and sat on the couch across from him. "I'm pretty sure I'm on Chief Beifong's bad side thanks to you. Not the place I want to be."

"And I appreciate it greatly. More than I can ever express." He sniffed the glass and winced at the pungent smell, but took a large swig. It burned his throat, and he coughed.

"You should probably go a little easier on that."

"Cactus juice?" he guessed, and she looked offended.

"Fine distilled grain."

"Ah." He sniffed it again. That explained the sort of spoiled bread smell to it.

She cocked a manicured brow. "So, what's so awful that you're deigning to drink with the commoners?" Her eyes softened. "I heard that the family you were defending was attacked again, and that the father was killed."

Amon's eyes closed. He didn't want to talk about that on top of everything else, or he might melt down entirely. Gathering his courage, he said, "I need a doctor who can be held to secrecy. For Korra."

Both brows shot up. "Is she ill?"

He took another long swig, and it didn't burn as much this time.

"Zoran?" she prodded.

He couldn't meet her eyes. "She may be pregnant."

"Pregnant?" She balked at him. "Haven't you been using protection?"

"I need a doctor, Midori. Not a lecture."

"Surely you must realize the political implications-"

"Of course. Not to mention all the changes that this means for both of us, Korra in particular. And that is why I am here in the middle of the night." He raised his glass, then drained it.

"You're the last person I would have expected this from. I was right that your stupidity around her would get you into trouble." She drained her drink as well, then took both glasses to the cabinet to refill them. "Remember the days when you were the brilliant strategist and I was your faithful ensign? Now you're blundering around the city, beating up thugs, getting thrown in jail and knocking up the Avatar."

A glow was reaching Amon's mind. He wondered if it was already the alcohol, or just psychological. Either way, it was pleasantly numbing. "Can you help or not?"

"Of course I can." She shook her head. "Out of one mess and into another. Anything else, while I'm at it?"

"Yes."

"I was being sarcastic." She shoved the glass into his hand. He met her eyes.

"I want to speak with Lee."

"Now?" She squinted at him. "He's free in a week. And you're just barely in decent standing with the police, and it's so late-" Then she shook her head. "I don't know why I'm bothering to argue. We both know I'm going to cave in and do it." She set down her glass and left the room; he heard her dial the telephone.

Amon drained his fresh drink, then took hers and drank it as well. Already, he could feel the pleasant warmth smoothing the edges of his anxiety. He brought his satchel to the liquor cabinet and pulled out two generic-looking bottles, settling them in his pack. He wedged his new mask between them so that they would not clank, taking a moment to smooth his fingertips over the ebony surface as he remembered his original plans for the evening. How quickly everything had changed. He left several folded notes in the cupboard – more than enough for Midori to replace the liquor – and closed the doors.

When she returned, she eyed her empty glass. "Did you...did you finish my drink?"

He met her gaze, and she shook her head.

"I suppose you need it more than I did, anyway," she said. "Let's go. You've got one hour in the interrogation room."

"Thank you, Midori," he said, knowing there was no way he could properly thank her for all she did for him. Hopefully one day, he'd have the opportunity to repay her.

.*.*.*.

They were silent as they walked to the station. The streets were nearly empty, a few citizens hurrying past. A misting rain added a glossy finish to the cobblestone, and the yellow streetlamps reflected on its surface, bathing the street in a warm glow. Amon breathed in the earthy scent that was heavy in the air, and the cool air cleared the fog in his brain.

Suddenly, a passing man locked eyes with him.

Amon froze as he saw anger in the blue eyes, their sockets bruised and swollen. The other man looked quickly away, but not before Amon recognized him: the bloodbender he had attacked. The one who had nearly killed the small girl. Amon traced the departing man with his eyes, and his step faltered; he stumbled into Midori. She caught his arm and tugged him upright.

"I've never seen you drunk."

"I'm not drunk," he said, still staring after the man. The words felt awkward in his mouth, as if his lips were too numb to properly form the words. "We just passed the man I attacked."

She shook her head no. "You're seeing things. Based on the police reports, he'll be in the hospital for a long time. You did quite the number on him."

"You don't think a waterbending gang would have access to excellent healers?"

She hesitated. "Good point. I'll mention it to the officer on duty while you're chatting with Lee. Just in case it warrants attention."

Amon glanced back the way they had come. The bloodbender was standing in the street now, watching him.

Smiling. Like a predator.

A shiver ran down his spine. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

By the time they reached the station, he was leaning heavily on Midori. She flashed her diplomatic papers at the officer, who let them pass into the cell block. As always, the officers had assigned them to the interrogation room at the end of the row of Republic City's most dangerous prisoners, no doubt a passive-aggressive reminder to the Equalists that they would end up here if they did not behave themselves.

Amon tried to keep his eyes forward, but as always, they drifted toward Hiroshi Sato as they walked past his cell. The formal industrialist had been essential to the Equalist movement, and a good friend. Amon imagined that his fall from grace must have been especially hard, for of all of them, he had had the most to lose. The man refused to speak with anyone, instead wasting away in his cell. As usual, he was sleeping, his back to the world.

Tarrlok was in the next cell, sitting by the bars, his blue eyes burning with hatred as they trailed Amon from behind stringy hair. The man had a lot to hate him for: because of Amon and Korra, his bloodbending had been revealed to the world and then stripped from him, and now he was serving time for a regime that had been created in direct response to Amon's Equalist movement. Each time Amon walked past the disgraced ex-Councillor, he had the feeling that the man could see straight through him.

This time, his fears were confirmed:

"Amon," called Tarrlok's voice.

He halted, but did not turn to face him.  _"_ Amon is dead, ex-Councillor."

"And yet, here you are."

"Ignore him," whispered Midori, but Amon's self-control had been washed away by the drink.

He turned. "You are mad."

Tarrlok's bearded mouth was pressed between two bars, and his eyes were almost feverish. "You and I both know that a man's powers may be taken, but never his resolve. That a legend never dies." His broad lips twisted into a grin. "And I'm not the only one who knows it's you. You're going to need my help, Amon. Just you wait. Before long, you will be kneeling by this cell, begging me for my aid."

"Come on, Zoran," said Midori loudly. "Don't listen to the madman's ramblings." She began to walk forward, pulling him along with her.

Amon could feel Tarrlok's deranged gaze follow them. He tried not to let the words bother him, but he was already on edge, and he was grateful when they stepped into the familiar safety of the interrogation room.

It was a tiny room, painted white, with a single light, two chairs and a table. The light was so bright that Amon shielded his eyes with his arm. Midori led him to the chair and dropped him into it, and he found himself struggling not to slide onto the floor.

"Is he drunk?" asked his former lieutenant incredulously.

Amon squinted to try to bring the man into focus. "I wish everyone would stop pointing it out." At last, his eyes focused. Each time he saw Lee, he was amazed at how much the man had evolved. Lee had made the most of his time in prison, using it as an excuse to train, and it showed: the man's body was rippled with muscle. There were fresh lines around his eyes and mouth, but his pale eyes burned with the same energy and intensity that had made him an excellent lieutenant. A wave of nostalgia crashed over Amon as he remembered late nights hunched over maps with his friend, plotting their next moves to grow the Equalist movement. While technically his right-hand man, Lee was more like a brother.

"I'll be back in an hour to collect you," said Midori, stepping out the room and closing the door behind her.

"Good to see you, old friend." Amon opened his pack and pulled out one of the pilfered liquor bottles. With a sloppy pass, he tossed it to the other, who easily caught it. "Commandeered that for you."

"Thanks, Amon. What's the occasion?"

"The fact that they finally let you shave that scruffy beard they had you growing."

Lee smirked and ran a hand over his bare chin. "Yeah, I'm glad they let me look presentable for the hearing. If a bit naked. At least the beard is gone, but it's sure going to take me awhile to grow the old moustache out again." He raised a brow as Amon pulled out the other bottle and uncorked it. "Something on your mind? There have been some mutterings that you were here among us last night."

"Yes, they held me in a cell for a bit. I almost killed a bloodbender."

"Almost? What a shame."

Amon smiled to himself. If there was anyone who would understand his dislike of bending – and his abhorrence toward having a bender child – it was Lee. He cleared his throat.

"I just found out that I might be a father."

His lieutenant winced. He pushed away from the white table, rocking his chair back. "Shit."

"Precisely."

"The Avatar?"

Amon nodded.

"Shit," said Lee again, taking a drink. "So that's what, half a chance the kid is a bender? Does it work that way? You must be sweating bullets."

Swirling his bottle, Amon watching the liquid swish inside it. "And what if I told you that the chance was significantly higher than that?" It wasn't something he had ever meant for anyone but Korra to know, but his lips felt loose.

Lee's clear eyes flew open. "Are you telling me that you're a bender?"

"No. I'm telling you that I'm a non-bender by choice."

The other's face twisted and he lunged forward, his chair slamming into place. "Do you know how long it took me to get over the fact that you were sleeping with the Avatar, and now this? You were a bender the whole time?"

Amon cocked his nose at the bottle in the man's hand. "That should help you get over it. And as for the bending, I would have purified myself, had that been possible."

"But you lied." For a moment, it looked as if the man were going to fly into a rage.

"No. I omitted one truth. I used firebending once, as a child, and it has haunted me ever since. I assure you, my intentions were noble."

Lee's eyes closed and he took a deep breath. "I guess. And you did a lot for non-benders."

"Like I said: a non-bender by choice."

There was a long silence. The lieutenant took several swallows of the liquor. Amon waited, knowing that he should not push the man after dropping an emotional bombshell on him. Lee was a bit resistant to new ideas, but at the end of the day, his loyalty to Amon was unwavering.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, Lee was calm again. "So, a child. What are you going to do?"

In response, Amon held up his bottle.

With a chuckle, Lee added, "I mean, long-term."

"Where do I see myself in ten years?" asked Amon, quoting an interview question they had asked Equalists looking to climb the ranks. His own question made him falter. He had always dreamed of being the figurehead of Republic City, leading the world in a peaceful and harmonic state free from benders, but that dream was badly outdated.

"Look, Amon, you've given me a lot of advice over the years," said Lee, clasping his hands together on the surface of the table. "Took this old dog under your wing and taught him everything he knows about rebellion. So I hope you'll forgive me stepping out of rank and let me share my knowledge with you, this one time."

"I'm all ears." He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"Revolution is a lonely life." Lee frowned. "We risk isolation by jail terms, or having our identities erased. It's usually a path that people choose because they have nothing normal left, out of desperation. You know why I joined the Equalists in the first place?"

Amon shook his head no.

"Because I lost everything." Lee's eyes dropped. "I had a beautiful wife, Rosa. We were childhood friends who reconnected after a chance encounter at an opera: serendipity, she used to say. We had a little girl together, and she had just learned to call me Daddy." There was a long pause as he took a deep breath, steadying himself. "The gangs destroyed all that. Drowned them in their own home, in the place where they were supposed to be safest, when I wasn't there to stop them. I'd give everything to get that life back, Amon. I fought so that no one else would lose what I had. So that people who had the chance at that happiness could be free to seize it."

"I'm sorry," said Amon genuinely. Lee shrugged it off, but Amon could see that he was still wounded.

There was a long pause.

"I almost had all those things," said Amon, again revealing more than he had ever intended. "After I left Republic City, I met a woman. A non-bender, as passionate and idealistic as I am, a quick study with a quicker smile. Her name was Mareka, and she loved me. Things were good for awhile, but then she wanted a home together, marriage, kids."

"And you didn't?"

"I can't say I didn't entertain the idea. It would have been a pleasant future." He was surprised how freely these words were flowing – even Korra didn't know all the details. "She was beautiful and sweet and kind, and I could see myself being happy with her. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that all I wanted was the woman I had left behind, no matter what the cost."

"Pretty hefty cost," said Lee.

"Indeed. I don't think either of us realized just how much we would be giving up to be together." His head bowed. "And now everything is coming to a head, and everything we've given each other...it isn't enough anymore."

Lee leaned forward and clapped a hand to Amon's shoulder, a gesture of compassion that made moisture spring to Amon's eyes. He blinked it back. He'd be damned if he let his former lieutenant see him cry. "I should not have come. You shouldn't see me this way."

"No need for apologies, my friend. It's comforting to know that there was an actual human beneath that mask, all those years. I sometimes wondered." Lee leaned back in his seat. "Let's talk of better times - I bet you could use a distraction. But first, another drink."

.*.*.*.

As the drink flowed, Lee rambled on about a mission with Midori long ago, one that had gone awry. It was a story Amon had heard many times, and so his mind begin to wander. It had been a while since he had voiced Mareka's name, and as memories flooded his mind, he suddenly realized another reason why Korra's words had wounded him so deeply:

_This isn't going to work._

Behind closed eyes, he saw Mareka, swinging their joined hands in the space between their bodies. The rain was streaking the makeup down her fine, pale features, but she didn't seem to mind; her beauty was natural, anyway, and she knew it. Her wide brown eyes smiled almost as much as her mouth. Those eyes had always regarded him with such tenderness...

"Come on, Zoran," she chided in his memory. "It will only take a few minutes to see. It has three full bedrooms!" Water dripped off the end of her snub nose.

"I should get back to my disciples," he said, looking away so that she didn't see the pain in his eyes. While he was still adept at masking his emotions, he could never seem to fool Mareka. Her perceptiveness was usually an asset, but today was a day when he wanted his privacy.

Unfortunately, he would not get it: "You're so quiet today. Something is really bothering you." After a pause, her voice was childlike: "I heard on the radio that it's Avatar Korra's birthday."

He was glad for the pouring rain, because a tear had leaked out of his eye. Nearly three years without Korra, and their separation still hurt so badly that his chest ached to think about her – something that was difficult to avoid on a day of national celebration. Her face had been plastered on the morning paper, barely changed from the day he left. He had seen her photo in the paper before, but not like this: a full, front-page splash with enough detail that he could see a growing wisdom in her eyes and an unexpected grace in her posture. Twenty-one years old – no longer a girl, but a woman. Confident. Strong. He had stared at it for five full minutes, paralysed by the unexpected agony that had gripped him.

Mareka cupped his cheek, as gentle as always – she was always gentle with him, not wrestling for power with him like Korra – and forced him to look at her. Her voice was so soft that it was almost lost among the dull roar of the rain.

"You still love her."

He didn't have an answer for her, but she touched a fingertip to his tear, somehow finding it between the raindrops.

"If you still love her this much, then why are you still here?" Her voice was impossibly gentle, even though he could see in her pinched expression that her heart was breaking.

"Mareka-"

"Answer the question, Zoran. Please." Her eyes were red and glossy.

_Because you are here, my love,_  were the correct words to say, but they caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her everything: his true identity, his past, the spirit, the cave, his connection to Korra. He wanted to tell her that he did love her and the life they had built together, but that his connection to the Avatar was so deeply engrained that it would take a long time to shake – if he could ever shake it. None of the words would come. Maybe all of it was written on his face anyway, because her head dropped.

Defeated.

And then those dreadful words left her lips: "This isn't going to work, is it?"

When he did not answer, she fled, leaving him alone and cold in the rain. He stood there until his clothes were soaked all the way through, staring after his lost chance for a normal life, his feet cemented to the ground.

_This isn't going to work,_ whispered the words in his mind, Korra's this time. His chance at an abnormal life – the one he wanted above all others – was slipping through his fingers, too.

Only this time, he didn't have the right words to say. It wasn't so simple as chasing after her and swearing his love.

"Amon?" asked his former lieutenant, jerking his thoughts back to the interrogation room. "You all right?"

"Drifting through the past, trying to apply its lessons to the present." Amon shook his head. "For all my years leading a revolution, I never did master the art of strategy when applied to love."

Lee laughed. "Typical. You can't apply strategy to love. It's an emotion, immune to logic. You have to stop trying to think your way through everything and accept that some things in life just don't make sense."

"I don't know how to turn off that side of myself."

Lee pointed to the liquor bottle. "That should be helping."

"I think it's only making things worse."

"Then you need more of it." Reaching out his bottle, his former lieutenant clanked it against Amon's. "Bottoms up."

It would be nice to reach a state of stupor and escape his thoughts for awhile. Amon tilted the bottle to his lips, praying for oblivion to blanket his senses.


	5. IV: Bender

**IV**

**Bender**

Time began to slip. One second, Amon was earnestly explaining the Equalist's Red Monsoon proposal to Lee, hands gesturing wildly for emphasis. The next, he found himself rambling about Korra, about their time in the cave together, dimly aware that he was probably going into too much detail, but Lee was listening with great interest.

Then Midori was hoisting him up by his arm. She shoved him against the wall.

"What the hell, Amon?" she snarled.

"So you do still remember my name," he slurred.

"This is ridiculous! How am I going to explain that you got the lieutenant drunk during an interrogation?"

"I can handle myself just fine," said Lee. "I think he's the bigger problem right now."

"I'm fine." Amon plucked her hands from his shoulders and tried to stand. His stomach lurched, and the ground rocked, but he managed to stay upright. "I have...I have to go talk to Korra."

"Oh no you don't." Midori hooked her arm under his armpits to help him stand. "You're not talking to anyone in this state, because that's just going to be another mess I'll have to clean up. You're going to sleep on my couch so that I can make sure you don't drown in your own vomit, and tomorrow you're going to be the one explaining all this to Chief Beifong. Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Good luck," said Lee. "And Amon? Thanks for the drink." He held up the bottle.

Midori growled and snatched the bottle, shoved it in Amon's satchel and led him from the room. He leaned heavily on her, surprised that his legs felt so detached from his body.

"Being drunk feels terrible," he said.

"Don't talk to me." She nodded a quick farewell at the night guard on the way back to the street. "You're acting as if your life is ending. It's not. Some people would give anything – anything – to be able to have a child."

There seemed to be a nuance to the words that he couldn't quite decipher. "But the political-"

"Yes, I'm aware, but praying to spirits in a bottle isn't going to help you out of this."

The streetlights bled together in a warm, glowing haze. Around them, the streets were quiet, other than a few others drunkenly staggering home. The moon was bright and nearly full. Amon had the feeling it would be a beautiful night if he could focus long enough to see the stars.

There was a sudden hesitation in Midori's step.

"There he is," said a deep voice from an alley to their left.

Midori stopped. Amon leaned against her, his head lolling onto her shoulder. He blinked against his blurred vision. Shapes were emerging from the shadows – he couldn't tell how many, as he was still seeing double.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Don't say anything," she whispered. "Can you stand?"

He tentatively pulled away from her. His head and stomach spun, but he managed to stay upright, swaying a little. The shapes clarified, forming into a circle of men. They looked to be waterbenders, easily more than a dozen.

_Shit._ He recognized one of them: the man he had locked eyes with earlier that evening. The one who had bloodbent the firebender girl.

"Councillor Midori," said the man at the front, "we recommend that you leave."

"I'll do no such thing." She stepped forward. "What is the meaning of this?"

The man pointed at Amon. "We have a score to settle with this one." Amon's vision crystallized long enough for him to see the logo at the man's throat. The Red Monsoons. He swore to himself again; he had been hoping for a random group of thugs, not a full gang unit.

"A score to settle? With Zoran?" She shook her head, giving a convincing performance. "He's simply my assistant. What could he have done to offend you?"

"Just because he doesn't have the mask, you think we won't recognize him?" The man cracked his neck. "You took the bending of two-dozen of my men and women, you bastard. This has been a long time coming."

Slowly, Amon's feet slid into his fighting stance, readying himself.

"What the hell are you saying?" asked Midori.

"That he is Amon."

"Amon is dead."

"So we thought. Seems your assistant is a ghost. My associate here heard his voice all too clearly last night, and then felt the wrath of his particular fighting style. We know it's him." The men began to close in.

She stepped closer to Amon. "Can you fight?" she whispered.

"Not well." He could barely stand. He tried to force sobriety through his veins to no avail, and cursed himself for drinking so heavily. "They want me, Midori. Leave."

"You don't stand a chance on your own." Her face grim, the Councillor slid off her high-heeled shoes and moved her bare feet into combat stance. Amon glanced sideways at her. Though she was a competent fighter, the odds were too heavily stacked against them. The thought of her being crushed to death from the inside terrified him. She and Lee were the closest thing he had to family.

A warmth he had not acknowledged since he was a child began to burn within his chest.

Stepping forward, he focused all his energy on keeping his words straight: "Wait. Your quarrel with me is not as grand as you think. Your friend can still bend even after I fought him, can he not? So I cannot be Amon."

"You almost took it. I felt you grab my neck. You just didn't want to give yourself away, but I know better." The man he had attacked sneered and thrust out a hand.

Amon felt his muscles begin to seize, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Remembering how things had ended the last time he had been bloodbent, he fought against his rising panic. Beside him, Midori cried out in pain. They fell to their knees on the wet cobblestone, side by side. As the pressure on their bodies intensified, she collapsed beside him, and he struggled to stay on all fours before he, too, gave in.

That same heat from his childhood began to lick along his veins.

"Well," said his attacker. "I thought that was going to be more difficult."

"Great," said one of his companions. "Thanks for getting us up in the middle of the night for this, Dukkon."

"Aw, come on, how was I supposed to know he'd go down so easily? Rumour had it that he resisted Tarrlok's bloodbending."

"Hey! Don't you dare mention that asshole's name around me."

Booted feet gathered around them. Amon heard Midori shriek as someone hauled her to her feet, but her voice ended in a sickening crunch. He had to intervene. If they hurt her – or worse – and he failed to do everything he could to stop them, he would never forgive himself. He could still feel that heat coursing through him, and in his desperation, he realized that there was one sure way to throw the attackers off track.

"Stop," he barked, cheek still pressed to the cobblestone. "I am not Amon. I'm a bender."

He heard a snort. "Yeah, right. A bending Equalist."

Still, the admission must have shocked his captor: the bloodbending grip lessened slightly, and Amon was able to lift his head. Midori was slumped against her attacker, her mouth dripping blood. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. He could almost hear her voice:  _what are you doing?_

He held her gaze.  _I'm saving our lives._

Straining against the weakened bloodbending, he moved his hands into position.

_At any cost._

He focused on the warmth, let it swell.

Fire burst from his hands and blasted his attacker away from him. The man's head cracked against the wall and he slumped, and the bloodbending grip dropped entirely.

The Red Monsoon members stood unmoving, eyes wide. Midori was staring at him with so much shock and anguish written on her face that he felt the blood drain from his face. He had just betrayed everything they had ever stood for – it wasn't long ago that he would have rather died than use bending.

Amon rose unsteadily to his feet, breathing hard. The rush of power was almost overwhelming – he felt delirious. Giddy. Did this rush always accompany bending? Had the man who killed his parents felt it as he took their lives?

_What have I become?_

He gagged, doubled over and began to vomit.

Water slammed into him before he was done, knocking him flying. He scrabbled for footing on slippery cobblestone, but slammed into a building and slumped to the ground. He spat and wiped his mouth, scrambling to reorient himself.

The man holding Midori dropped her, and she smacked into the ground, barely conscious. The entire group began to close in on Amon, uncapping water canisters by their sides.

"So maybe you aren't Amon, firebender," conceded one of the men. "But you're making our lives miserable anyway, so we're going to teach you some respect."

Shakily, Amon stood and set his stance, blinking to try to bring them into focus. There was no way he could use precise chi-blocking on them in this drunken state. His only hope was a broad assault, one that would catch all of them.

No choice.

His stomach lurched again, but this time he swallowed it back and waited. He could get emotional about this once he lived through it. The heat was gathering in his limbs, energy swirling and waiting for release.

All at once, they unleashed attacks: water and ice flew at him from twelve directions. He thrust his arms before his body with great focus, mimicking the motions he had seen Korra use when firebending.

Blue lightning erupted from his arms instead.

Amon yelled as it sparked out of control, burning his own flesh. The gang members around him convulsed and dropped. He couldn't tell if they were unconscious or dead. The scent of burnt flesh was heavy in the air. He tried to stop the electricity, but it was flowing unbidden now, scorching his hands. With a holler, he aimed it at the sky where it wouldn't hurt anyone, wrestling with himself to stem the flow of energy. It was draining consciousness from him; black waves crashed over his vision.

His saviour came in the form of the bloodbender: the man's grip seized his muscles, and the lightning stopped. Amon panted, fighting to stay awake, as the man lifted him in the air like a marionette. He wanted to struggle, but the grip was too tight for him to so much as twitch.

"Now you will die," growled the man, his lips flared, and Amon felt his heart constrict.

Suddenly, the bloodbender slumped.

The grip slid from Amon and he plummeted to the ground. With a groan, he lifted his head to see Midori in stance behind the bloodbender. She had knocked him out. Her hands fell to her sides, and then she, too, collapsed.

With great effort, Amon crawled across the street to reach her. His burnt arms and hands were screaming with agony, and a cold sweat erupted across his entire body. Flashbacks to his childhood injuries swam in his mind, and he took sharp breaths, trying to force them back. This was not the time to panic.

The Councillor shuffled away from him, wiping the blood from her mouth. "Stay back."

"Midori, it's me."

"I don't know who you are," she snapped, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm still Amon," he said. "You're hurt. Korra can heal us." He reached for her, and she shied away.

"Please trust me, Midori."

"You've been lying to me this whole time! All I've done to protect you-"

"We can discuss this later. They're not going to stay down for long. Can you stand?"

Her jaw was still quivering, but she closed her eyes to compose herself and tried to stand as he did the same. They sagged together, barely keeping one another upright. Moving as one, they staggered to his satchel; he looped it over his shoulder, yelling behind clenched teeth at the pain in his blistering hands. They gathered her shoes, then stumbled into an alleyway.

Haze cloaked Amon's vision, and his world began to spin. His stomach heaved.  _Not now. Keep going._ Midori was flagging at his side, her injuries taking their toll.

Light appeared at the other end of the alley: the main street. There would be taxis there. Amon bolstered himself and began to barrel for the light, dragging Midori with him.

They fell onto the sidewalk. One of the cabbies rushed over to them, horrified. "Are you okay?"

Amon closed his eyes. "Air Temple Island. Healing."

"But you'll need a boat-"

"Wallet. Front pocket. All of it. Take all of it." The words slurred, so he repeated them again in different combinations, hoping to find one that would make sense.

He felt the man lift the satchel, heard the zipper of the pocket. After a moment, the cabbie spoke: "Right away, sir."

Amon felt the man hoist him from the ground and guide him to a car. Midori joined him a short while later, barely conscious. Fresh blood was spilling from her mouth now. She fell into his lap, curling up like a child, and he rested his hand on her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Midori," he murmured.

His head rolled back against the seat, and the spinning blackness overcame him.

.*.*.*.

Tenzin rushed down the front steps of the temple, the cabbie following closely behind.

"What happened?"

The cabbie returned to Amon, who sagged against him as they stepped onto the stairs. "Red Monsoons."

Hoisting Midori into his arms, Tenzin fell into step behind them. "It was good thinking to come here, Zoran. Korra has been focusing hard on improving her healing skills, and she's the best in the city. You'll be in good hands."

_I know_ , thought Amon, but he only said, "Midori first."

Pema and the children were huddled in the entryway with concerned faces; they backed out of the way as the wounded and their rescuers approached.

"Down the hallway past the kitchen," mumbled Amon to his guide. "Third door on the right."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Pema's eyes widen. Amon's jaw clenched, sobriety washing over him for a moment as he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know where Korra's room was. He slowly turned his head and saw that Tenzin was staring at him, mouth open. Normally, he would have the soundness of mind to come up with an excuse, but his mind was too hazy.

Finally, Tenzin shook his head. "He's correct. Let's hurry."

.*.*.*.

Korra closed her eyes and leaned back against Naga's warm fur, listening to the chatter of her friends. She revelled in the sensation of the brisk breeze on her skin and cold grass beneath her hands. These were the nights she had missed: Team Avatar, together again. While Asami had stayed at the island, paying rent until the legal complications with her father's assets were sorted out, Mako and Bolin had moved to an apartment in the city. At first, the brothers had frequently returned to the island for overnight visits, but they were becoming more rare lately. It was a stroke of luck that they were around on a night when she was in such emotional turmoil, and they had been happy to accompany her to the cliffs. It had seemed like a good distraction.

Unfortunately, being here, of all places, reminded her of Amon, of the night they had shared here before the fateful battle with Tarrlok. At the time, they had thought it was their last night together. If only they had known that they would get another chance.

What she wouldn't give for yet another one.

The things she had said to him during their argument – she regretted every word, or at least the way she had phrased them. She replayed their argument in her head, over and over, trying to find a way around their fate. It was especially difficult in the presence of Mako and Asami, who didn't realize just how good they had it. They could go on dates, hold hands, kiss. They could marry, have children if they wished, grow old together. They didn't have political tensions or complications or conflicts. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that she and Amon were just too different to last.

But spirits, did she love him.

"Hey," whispered Bolin, nudging her shoulder with his. "You're awfully quiet. Want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Is it this mysterious man you won't introduce us to?" asked Mako, eyes narrowing.

"I think I overheard you fighting with someone," said Asami gently.

Korra winced. Asami's room was right next to hers. "You heard that?"

"I hear everything. The walls are pretty thin, and the doors are paper. Why do you think I always turn on the music when you have him over?"

Korra flushed, realizing that she and Amon weren't as stealthy as they had always imagined. Just how much had Asami overheard over the past year? "And you didn't think to say anything earlier?"

Asami shrugged. "I figured you must overhear Mako and me, so fair was fair."

In truth, Korra was such a heavy sleeper that she had never even realized that Mako paid Asami nighttime visits. The thought of her friends doing anything similar to the things she did with Amon made her a bit queasy.

"Well, yeah, we did have a fight." Using earthbending, she lifted a pebble off the ground and flung it off the cliff.

"Everything okay?" asked Bolin. "You can lay it on us if you need to vent."

The offer was tempting. After a moment to consider, she decided it would feel good to voice her anxiety, so long as she kept the details vague.

"Fight might be an understatement," she said. "It was pretty big, and I don't know if-"

Korra closed her mouth as in the background, she noticed someone flying on an air scooter toward them. Jinora. At first she thought the girl was coming to share in the nighttime visit – she often did lately, and Korra suspected it was due to a growing crush on Bolin – but instead she stopped in front of them, not even bothering to dismiss her transport.

"Come quickly, Korra," she said. "Councillor Midori and Zoran are injured, and they need your help!"

_No._  Korra jumped to her feet, her heart racing. As if sensing the urgency, Naga rose, and Korra leaped onto her back.

"Come on, Naga," she urged, and the polar bear dog began to sprint for the temple.

"They're in your room," called Jinora after her.

.*.*.*.

Korra saw Tenzin, Pema and the other three kids huddling in the doorway of her room, peering into it with a mix of curiosity and concern. She jumped off Naga, leaving her in the hallway, and pushed past them.

Amon sat on the floor, slumped against the wall; his hands were blistered and red. With a small cry, she darted toward him, but his head jerked in the direction of the bed. "Midori first."

Whirling, Korra saw that the Councillor lay on the mattress, her skin ashen. She knelt by the woman and smoothed the salt-and-pepper hair from her forehead. Blood stained her nose and mouth, and she was immediately reminded of Amon's face after Tarrlok had attacked him four years earlier. _Bloodbending._

Turning to the doorway, where the rest of Team Avatar had joined Tenzin's family to ogle, she barked, "Someone grab me a bucket of water." Then, turning back to Amon: "Tell me everything that happened."

"We were coming back from the police station," he began, his words slurring so heavily that she cut him off.

"Are you drunk?"

"I had a rough night," he growled.

"So did I, but you don't see me-"

"Korra," he interrupted, "there are more pressing matters."

Pema stepped into the room and set the tub beside her. Korra thanked her and guided the water around Midori's body, encasing it in a blue glow. She could feel some internal damage, but thankfully nothing that couldn't be fixed. Her breath escaped in a relieved burst.

"Can you heal her?" asked Tenzin from the doorway.

"Yes." Korra closed her eyes, letting the water guide her movements. "Continue your story, Mr. Zoran."

"We were coming back from the police station, when a group of men stepped out." She could sense that he was focusing very hard to keep his words straight. "Red Monsoons. One of them was the man from the other day. At least twelve." His eyes met hers. "They recognized my voice, Korra."

Her heart froze. She glanced up at the onlookers, and saw that Tenzin's brows were heavy. The others were staring with a mixture of confusion. Hurrying the conversation forward so that they wouldn't dwell on the point, she said:

"And then they attacked you, but you managed to escape? How?" She knew Amon was an excellent fighter, and that Midori had been a chi-blocker as well, but twelve against two were bad odds, particularly if Amon had been drunk.

The last of Midori's internal wounds closed up, so Korra guided the water back to the bucket. After a night to sleep it off, the Councillor would be as good as new, if a bit bruised. She would give her another healing session at Council the next day just to be sure.

"Only the one could bloodbend...without the full moon," said Amon. "Must be a relative or disciple of Yakone. The rest were just..." His words trailed off as his head fell to the side, and he covered his mouth with his bicep. As his shoulders heaved, she realized that he was going to vomit.

"Oh, spirits." She kicked the bucket toward him and tried not to listen as he coughed into it. "Pema, would you mind–?"

"I'll go grab another one," said the woman, hurrying away.

Meelo and Rohan were giggling with delight at the gruesome display. Tenzin cleared his throat. "Children, go to bed. You shouldn't be listening to this sort of story, anyway."

"Yes, children," said Jinora.

Tenzin shot her a sharp look. "You and Ikki as well."

Korra opened her drawer and pulled out a clean rag. Once Amon was no longer ill, she knelt in front of him and wiped his mouth, trying not to let the heavy scent of alcohol turn her stomach. Her eyes drifted down to his hands. They were worse than she had first thought. The flesh on his fingers was cracked and peeling, and puffy red welts travelled down his arms in the shape of lightning bolts. "You must be in horrible pain."

"I can't feel much."

Pema delicately set a fresh bucket by Korra and, without even flinching, retrieved the other. Korra supposed she must be accustomed to the nastier side of being human, given that she was raising four children. How would Korra ever have the stomach for it?

On the bed, Midori groaned and thrashed, then lay still.

"I'll tend to her," said Asami, moving to sit on the bed beside the semi-conscious Councillor.

"Thank you."

"Better watch out when she wakes up," murmured Amon. "She's not going to be happy to see me."

"Why not?" Korra encased Amon's hands in water and sensed the damage, and immediately answered her own question. The damage started from the inside, not the outside.

"You used firebending!" She stared at him with her mouth agape.

He met her gaze, his face stony. "I could not control it."

"No, I imagine not." Fire was the hardest element to tame, and he had been denying that it existed for two decades; that was a lot of uncontrolled energy to try to harness. "These are lightning scars. That's an extremely advanced technique."

"I need you to take away my bending, Korra." His eyes were so intense that she looked back down to his hands, continuing to tend to them.

"I can't do that. Not without reason."

"I may have killed some of those men."

"Killed?" said Tenzin from the doorway. His voice made her jump; she had forgotten about their audience. He stepped into the room, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is very serious, Zoran."

"It always was," said Amon. "They killed an innocent man in cold blood. We tried to tell you. We had a proposal to-"

The airbender cut him off with a long, low sigh. "We can discuss the political ramifications in Council, when you're more...capable of it. For now, I will phone Chief Beifong to see about getting some protection for you and Midori. If they came after you once, they're likely to come after you again."

"I can radio it in," offered Mako from the doorway, but Tenzin shook his head.

"I would prefer to keep this a political matter for now, if that's all right, Officer Mako."

As Tenzin turned to leave, Korra finished healing Amon's hands. She clasped them in her own, tracing the fading lightning scars with her thumbs. "You'll both need another round of healing in about eight hours to take down the swelling. But the pain should be more bearable now."

"Thank you. You are my saviour spirit." His head lolled to his shoulder, and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"I love you, Korra," he added.

Right there, in front of everyone.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Mr. Zoran, you are drunk," she managed, her voice squeaking. She slowly turned to look at everyone else; had they bought it? Asami wore a soft, knowing smile. Mako, Bolin and Pema were all staring with wide eyes. Tenzin had stopped in the doorway, mid-departure. He hadn't turned around, but Korra knew him well enough to sense that he was processing information, trying to fit together the puzzle pieces... Finally, he shook his head and left the room.

She suddenly sensed that their private relationship was on the cusp of being very public.

Clearing her throat, she said to the remaining onlookers, "If you don't mind, the patients need some rest. Pema, is there a room where Mr. Zoran can stay? He'll need more healing in a few hours."

Pema raised a brow, but then gave a forced smile. "Of course. Follow me."

Korra slung Amon's satchel over her shoulder, then bent down and wrapped an arm around his waist. As she hauled him to his feet, he fell against her, barely able to stand, and she grunted against his dead weight. She was exceptionally strong, but their height difference made his weight awkward to bear. Slinging his arm over her neck, she turned back to Asami.

"Would you mind getting Midori settled? She can take my bed." Korra didn't mind sleeping on the floor for one night.

"Not at all." Her friend smiled and began to adjust the blankets.

As Korra pushed through the doorway, lugging Amon with her, she saw that Mako's face was pinched and Bolin's was startled.

"Korra," said Mako as she passed.

She shook her head no. "Tomorrow." Based on the suspicious look on her friend's face, she already knew what he wanted to discuss, and she couldn't take anymore difficult honesty tonight.

Once they arrived at the spare room, Pema ducked out and closed the door, leaving Korra and Amon alone. She hoisted him onto the bed and he sprawled across the covers, one leg bent and one arm over his eyes.

"My boots," he murmured, trying to sit up.

Placing a hand on his chest to stay him, she unbuckled his boots, pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor. "There."

His eyes were still covered by his arm, but she saw his lips quirk up in an appreciative smile. In spite of all the harsh words they had exchanged, she felt the overwhelming urge to comfort him. She sat at the head of the bed, pulling his head into her lap.

"I'm going to support Midori on your proposal," she said. "There are a few modifications I wish to suggest before we act, but the Red Monsoons are escalating far more quickly than the Council knows. You are right: we must take action." She turned out the light, the room dimly lit from the guard light outside the open shutters, and pulled his arm away from his face. He looked up at her, his yellow eyes slightly unfocussed, but placid.

"I'm so glad you made it out of there alive," she added quietly. "If that argument had been our last conversation, I never would have forgiven myself." Her hands ran through his hair, nails gently massaging his scalp.

His eyes closed and he smiled.

"Marry me, Korra."

Her hand froze, then she cleared her throat. "Don't say anything you'll regret when you're sober."

"I'm not strong enough sober." His head shifted her lap. "I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"It is our anniversary tomorrow. Or today. What time is it?"

"Our anniversary? You were keeping track?" She stared at him, trying to reconcile the Amon she knew with a romantic soul.

"Four years since the cave collapsed on us," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "One year since our dance after I returned. To the day."

She blinked, not realizing that the date held so much significance. Had he sought her out a year ago specifically on that date? Her hand found his, their fingers interlacing. There was still so much she didn't know about him.

"You need to sleep, Amon. We'll talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

"Stay with me." The words were barely voiced.

Remembering the suspicious expressions of her friends, she decided against the tempting offer. Instead, she delivered a soft kiss to his forehead. His breaths were already deep and even.

As she left the room, she realized that her body was trembling.  _Marry me, Korra._ _S_ he thought of all they had said to each other that evening. Though she wished she hadn't voiced some of it so harshly, all of it was true.

"I love you, Amon," she whispered. "But we both know it wouldn't work."

She fell against the door, her eyes closed, and smoothed a hand across her stomach.


	6. V: Denial

**V**

**Denial**

Amon awoke with a throbbing headache, a parched throat and the acrid taste of old alcohol and bile coating his sticky tongue. He sat up, but immediately regretted it; the movement reverberated through his skull.

A glass of water was beside his bed. He downed the cool liquid, then winced as his stomach threatened to send it back up. Once, when the Equalist movement had been in its infancy, he had had the misfortune of being poisoned. The poison hadn't killed him, but had left him wishing it would. This hangover was remarkably similar.

He lay on his back and lifted his hand. The scars were red, perfectly formed bolts, but the pain was manageable. Tracing through the fragments of memories, he was able to recreate the fight in his mind. His fingers curled as he remembered the rush of power that had accompanied firebending.

It bothered him that deep down, he had enjoyed it.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and then it slid open. Jinora poked her head into the room.

"Oh, you're awake." She was carrying a fresh glass of water and a sprig of mint; she set them on the bamboo bedside table. "The mint will help your stomach, Mr. Zoran." A bit shyly, she added, "I would offer to bring a fresh change of clothes, but all we have are air temple robes."

He glanced at her orange-and-yellow robes, thinking to himself that it would be the worst possible way to blend in with a crowd. The deep brown fabric of his own robes hid the blood and vomit stains nicely, though he imagined they didn't hide the smell. His nose wrinkled.

"Thank you," he said, voice groggy. "My robes will suffice until I return home."

She bowed respectfully. Her eyes were lingering too long on his face now, and he realized that she was trying to surreptitiously study his scars; his hood had fallen off in the night. He tugged it back into place, and the girl looked away, embarrassed.

"My father wishes to speak with you – shall I tell him you're awake?"

Amon searched the shards of his memories for whatever had happened that made him feel uncomfortable at the thought of the Councillor. Not having his mind available to him was the equivalent of being stripped of his strongest weapon.

"Certainly," he said, clutching at a throbbing eye. His other hand reached for the mint. It was cool on his mouth and throat, and his stomach began to settle.

A few minutes later, Tenzin stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His bushy brows were so low that they nearly touched.

At the disapproving expression, a memory flashed into Amon's mind: directing the cabbie to Korra's room. And, even worse, had he really told Korra he loved her, in front of everyone? He cringed, cursing himself. He had only wanted to forget his woes for a night, not turn into a blithering idiot.

"I believe I know what question is on your mind, Councillor," he said.

Tenzin held his chin high. "Is that so, Amon."

The name shocked him. Forcing a chuckle, Amon said, "It seems everyone is mistaking me for him lately."

"Do not patronize me. It is obvious, in retrospect." The Councillor's voice was so quiet that hair rose at the back of Amon's neck.

"I always wondered why you never spoke in Council sessions," continued Tenzin. "I assumed you were mute, but now I know that it's because you would have been recognized immediately."

He met the Councillor's eyes with a neutral stare. "I have never been particularly gifted at disguising my voice."

Tenzin shook his head and sat on a stool by the bed. "So tell me, Amon: how long have you been controlling Councillor Midori?"

"Controlling? I have been assisting her, nothing more. Midori is not a woman one controls." Quietly, he added, "How is she?"

"Sore, but alive." Tenzin's dark eyes were hard. "I find it hard to believe that the former leader of the Equalists – the one who led a war against this city – would sit passively by while his former underling helped direct its future." He leaned forward. "I find it even harder to believe that such a man would risk everything for the sake of a woman."

Amon's gaze did not waver.

"I'm speaking, of course, of Avatar Korra," said Tenzin. "I understand that she might give in to passion – she has always been strong-willed and impulsive. But you are calculated. Strategic. I can't help but puzzle over the nature of your relationship with her, wonder what your angle is."

Biting back a sudden flare of temper – how dare anyone question his love for Korra – Amon said smoothly, "Perhaps you overestimated my ability to strategize. Perhaps I was a mere figurehead of the revolution all along, a puppet for true masterminds who are either in jail or still at large."

Tenzin shook his head slowly. "No. Our intelligence shows that you were incontrovertibly the leader."

"Intelligence is only as smart as the people who interpret it."

"True, and the police force does still have a few duds from Tarrlok's day who need to be weeded out. Ideally, it should be the courts who decide whether or not our evidence is valid, anyway." Tenzin paused. "Still, you are taking an enormous risk. You do understand the ramifications if you are discovered?"

Amon tilted his head forward, letting the shadow of his hood cover his face. "You once paid a hefty price for love yourself, did you not, Tenzin? Of all people, surely you would understand."

There was a long pause. They held each other's gaze, then Tenzin's brows dropped and his fists tightened.

"The way you tore this city apart-"

"I assumed the role of the villain to effect change, and look what has resulted from my actions. The Equalists are mollified and non-benders have a voice. Once the gangs are cleaned up as well, then all I have ever wanted for this city will be achieved."

"You have not served time for your crimes against this city!"

Amon watched the slow, steady flush of anger creeping up the man's shaved head. "I lived in exile for three years, and I will continue to serve the city – peacefully – so long as I am able."

"Peacefully?" Tenzin bared his teeth. "You killed two men last night, Amon. A dozen more are seriously injured."

_Killed._ Though Amon did not change his expression, his pulse pounded in his temples, its tempo increasing. He swallowed hard against the rushing bile in his esophagus; he was not going to let himself be sick again.  _I killed two men_.

He didn't doubt that he had indirectly been responsible for a number of deaths over the course of his career – the Equalist movement had spread so quickly that there were doubtlessly members who had killed in his name – but this was the first time since his childhood that he had been the one to directly take someone's life.

_I am the bending monster who takes the lives of others._

"If the Avatar takes my bending," he said quietly, "is that sufficient punishment for your tastes?"

"No." Tenzin leaned forward. "With your history and your tendency toward violence, you are a liability that the Council cannot afford. I strongly suggest a leave of absence to consider whether or not your goals are in line with Republic City's best interests. If they are not, I recommend your resignation."

"Or you will reveal me to the Council?"

Tenzin shook his head no. "I won't have to, at this rate. You're doing an excellent job of revealing yourself on your own." He stood. "I urge you to think about the ramifications not just for yourself, but for the woman you claim to love. You sowed a lot of anti-Avatar sentiment in this city when you sought to control it, and so there is a large group of people waiting for Korra to slip up. If you tie her name in with your scandal, the fallout for her will be enormous."

The words hit Amon like a slap across the face. He had always known – his greatest concern always had been for her reputation – but it was another eventuality that he had been avoiding. He was content to play the part of the villain if necessary, but to be despised by her people would break her. His mask finally cracked as his eyes dropped from Tenzin's.

"Please understand that I'm not manipulating her," said Amon. "There is no angle that I'm trying to play." He glanced down at his hands, tracing the jagged burn scars. "I have no strategy around her. No logic."

There was a long pause.

"I believe you." The Councillor's eyes softened. "I just know, from my own experience, that love can sometimes blind us to how our loved ones might be hurt by our actions. Korra will be in shortly to complete the healing on your wounds. Please consider all I've said." As he walked to the door, he added, "Councillor Midori asked me to tell you to take the day off."

Amon shook his head and sat up. "I am well enough to attend Council."

"I believe it was an order, not a request." Tenzin bobbed his head, then left the room, leaving Amon alone with his spinning thoughts.

.*.*.*.

Korra bolted down the hallway, frantically throwing her hair into a ponytail. She had slept in, the gentle embrace of sleep too tempting after the late and stressful night, and her growling stomach reminded her that it still needed breakfast – but Tenzin and Midori were leaving for Council in less than fifteen minutes, and she still had to heal Amon's hands.

She groaned as she saw Mako and Bolin ahead, arms folded over their chests, forming a blockade. Skidding to a stop in front of them, she slammed her fists into her hips and stood tall.

"Let me pass."

"The man you have been seeing is Amon," said Mako.

"I don't have time to discuss this with you." Korra moved to step between them, but they slid together, closing the gap.

"You never stopped loving him, did you?" asked Bolin. "The whole time he was gone, you still loved him." Korra saw that his eyes were red, and guilt pitted in her stomach.

"I don't have time to discuss this right now," she said as gently as she could. "Please, let me pass."

"I'm going to need to question him about his involvement in the deaths last night," said Mako. "He's a dangerous man."

Korra's jaw clenched. "And I am a dangerous woman, and you're blocking my path." She began to walk forward, her shoulders squared to clearly indicate that she had no intention of stopping. Reluctantly, the brothers parted to let her through.

"We're still going to talk about this, Korra," said Mako.

"Tonight," said Korra. "Come by after dinner. I'll talk to you guys then – I promise." She broke into a run again, angry that they had cost her precious time.

Her mood was still foul when she burst through the door to Amon's room. He sat on the edge of the bed, his boots on the floor beneath him, and his hands were clawed. She could tell he was trying to figure out how to put them on without disturbing his injuries. The scars were red and puffy, but not blistered like the night before.

"Here," she said, her voice still sharp with frustration at Mako and Bolin. She strode forward and gripped his wrists, pulling in water from the glass by his bedside. His eyes closed with gratitude as the glow enveloped the burns.

Even though the contact was for strictly platonic reasons, the sensation of his skin against hers soothed her temper.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice softer than before.

"Terrible." His thumb slid across her knuckle within the blue glow. "A lot was said yesterday, Korra."

Words echoed in her memory:  _Marry me._

"You were drunk," she said, trying not to show how much those two words had impacted her.

"No. Earlier. Before I left."

A low sigh left her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was watching her, waiting for her response. She pulled the water to his other hand, smoothing the glow along the red skin.

Amon's voice was gentle: "We can avoid discussing all those issues as much as we want, Korra, but they are going to surface again."

"I know. It's just – there's too much to think about right now. I don't want to talk about it yet." She finished off the healing and then misted the water into steam. "Don't move those for a few minutes. The skin needs a chance to set. I'm going to have to do another pass tonight."

"Thank you." Clearing his throat, he added, "I don't remember how much I said to you yesterday, but Midori has agreed to find you a doctor."

"I know. I talked with her about it this morning." She sat on the stool. "She's going to try to set something up for after the Council meeting today."

His voice was absent, as if speaking to himself: "So soon."

"I know." Her voice soft, she asked, "Are we going to be okay, Amon?"

He held her gaze. "I don't know. But I hope so."

"So do I." The yellow eyes were so intense that she traced the sharp bridge of his nose instead. She suddenly squinted. "Wait – hold on a second..." Tugging off his hood, she tilted his jaw so that his face caught the light. "Amon, since when do you have freckles?" Though most of the skin on his face was heavy with scars, there was flawless skin on his nose and around his eyes and lips, where the spirit had healed him as a child. There, she saw a faint smattering of freckles across the pale tan skin. It was a detail that was almost boyish, an intriguing contrast with the strong nose, jaw and chin. "I've kissed this nose a hundred times and never noticed. How?"

"Because we've only been able to be this close at night," he said. "In the safety of the shadows and dim lights."

She traced his nose as if seeing it for the first time. "That's so sad," she whispered. "We've been lovers for a year, and I had never even taken a close look at your face in broad daylight."

"I suppose that we have been revealed now, so the situation will change, at least in some contexts." He turned his head, pressing his lips into her palm. "I'm sorry that I exposed our secret to your friends last night. I think Councillor Tenzin caught on the instant that I gave the cab driver flawless directions on how to reach your room from the main entrance."

A smile crept across her lips. "I think confessing your love to me in front of everyone was the more explosive tip-off." Her smile faded and her hand curled away from his face. "I hope this doesn't cause any fallout for you."

"I will deny everything, but I suppose that one way or another, this means that even more changes are in store for us."

Korra took several deep breaths, gathering the courage for her next question. A bit awkwardly, she said, "Speaking of change, Amon, there was something you said to me, right before you fell asleep. Do you remember?"

"I don't even remember how I got to this room." He leaned forward, brows pinching with concern. "Did I say something to offend you?"

"Not exactly, it's just..." Relief and disappointment warred within her, so she grasped for something else: "You mentioned a present." She knew Tenzin and Midori would be waiting on her, but she was curious.

"Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten. Am I able to use my hands yet?"

"Better let them sit for a minute or two longer."

"Then I need you to do me a favour." He nudged his nose in the direction of his satchel, which lay on the bed stand. "I need you to retrieve something from the back pocket."

Korra lifted the satchel into her lap and unzipped the back pocket. Her hand hit a paper package; she pulled it out. It was a wrapped brick about the size of her palm, its texture hard and slightly yielding to her touch, like cold butter. The paper surface was adorned with a symbol she recognized:  _Spirit._

"What is it?" she asked, holding it out.

Amon's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Feng. He insisted I take his spirit world herbs, and he must have slipped in a sample even though I refused. I'll have to take those back. That wasn't what I meant for you to retrieve. Keep looking."

Her hand closed over a velvet box, and when she pulled it out, he nodded.

"Before it all changes," he said, "and no matter what happens with the doctor tonight, I want you to have this."

At first, anxiety fluttered in her chest. Was it a betrothal necklace? She opened the box and relief washed over her, then curiosity. Plucking the silver cuff from the paper, she held it up for examination.

"I thought you could wear it under your cloth bracer," he said. "A secret, like our love, one that only both of us know is there." He hesitated. "Though this bracelet may now be a better kept secret than our love."

Her fingertips traced the scrolling designs along the cuff's border; they reminded her of curling waves. Like home. There was an inscription on the inside that read:

_Korra,_

_A whisper of a secret._

_~A._

She realized her mouth was hanging slightly ajar, so she closed it. Overwhelmed with emotion, she tried to jest instead: "Clearly you didn't inscribe it yourself. It's actually legible." Her voice was hoarse.

With a soft chuckle, he said, "That is correct - I had Midori's help. What do you think?"

"Amon..." She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "It's so beautiful. I didn't expect anything like this."

"That's what makes it a surprise." He dropped his head and smiled, the closest emotion to shyness she had ever seen on his face. "It reminded me of you. Bold, strong and imposing, with a soft, delicate finesse that is only noticeable if you take the time to study it." He chanced a look up at her. "I am glad you are back."

She rolled up her cloth bracer, attaching the cuff to her wrist. The silver glowed against her dark skin. Its weight was comforting, the hint of an embrace.

"It is a shame to cover it. Just like the real thing." She tugged the cloth back into place. Her hand sought his. "I will wear it every day. But I don't have a gift for you."

"None is required. Am I allowed to use my hands yet?"

"Yes."

His free hand caught her jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. She leaned into it, relishing the sensation of his lips on hers. Only the night before, she had wondered if their words would stop her from ever feeling his kiss again.

Too soon, he pulled away. "No matter what happens tonight, Korra," he whispered, but he was interrupted by a yell from the hallway:

"Korra! Father's leaving!" Judging by the exaggerated scream, it was Meelo.

"Coming," she yelled. She stood. "I'm sorry, Amon. Tenzin will leave me behind if I don't hurry. What were you saying?"

"It can wait." His knuckles slid against her jaw. "Do you want me to be there when you visit the doctor?"

She shook her head no. While she wasn't sure what tests the doctor would be doing, she didn't relish the idea of Amon seeing her most intimate areas in such a clinical light. "Come by later tonight. We'll talk. About...everything." Even the words they had said the night before. Even the impossibility of their situation. Swallowing back a rising lump in her throat, she held up the bracer that hid her gift. "Thank you, Amon. Truly."

As she turned to leave, her face crumpled.

Deep down, she knew that had been their last conversation before everything changed.

.*.*.*.

As Korra left, Amon reached for the paper-wrapped block and weighed it in his hand. He hadn't even noticed Feng slip it into his bag. Why had the merchant given it to him, even after Amon's insistence that he didn't want it? He wanted nothing more to do with the spirit world – especially after severing his link with the spirit who had saved his life as a child.

Though, he had heard people say that once people were touched by the spirit world, the link between them never truly faded. Dreams of the spirit world still surfaced during his sleep from time to time. He was the last person in the world who needed oils to guide him there.

He pulled on his boots and slung the satchel over his shoulder. The wounds on his hands and arms, though better than before, still ached. Guilt was going to rise in his throat each time he felt a twinge in his hands.

At first, he went to the window, intending to sneak out, but there was no bluff below the window of this room – only a sheer drop down to the lower grounds. For the first time, he would be entering and then exiting the temple from the front door.

The hallway was empty. He hurried along it, eager to avoid any further awkward conversations like the one he had had with Tenzin.

There was no such luck: all three of Korra's friends sat at the table, along with Pema and the children. Bracing himself, Amon stood tall and stepped into the room.

"Thank you for your aid and your hospitality," he said.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Mako – Amon had never been formally introduced to the man, but he was easily recognizable. His face had been splashed all over the papers during the days when the Fire Ferrets pro-bending team had taken the world by storm. "Please, stay and eat with us." There was no friendliness in his voice.

His eyes travelled across the faces of the others he had heard all about from Korra. The earthbender boy to his left was eyeing him. Amon met his gaze, sizing the other up. Bolin. Korra had been intentionally vague with the details, but Amon knew that the two had had a dalliance during Amon's absence from Republic City. Based on the hard glint in the man's eye, it was more serious than Korra had let on. Though they had agreed not to dig too deeply into anything that had transpired during their three year separation, Amon felt a flicker of jealousy. It was an emotion that was foreign to him, and he found it bitter and uncomfortable.

Beside him was Sato's daughter, Asami, who was as beautiful as Korra had described – she must have gotten her looks from her mother, because he saw almost nothing of Hiroshi in her. Of all the people around the table, she was the only one who was looking at him kindly. He wondered if she knew just how much her betrayal of her father had broken him.

"I thank you for the invitation," said Amon. "I should, however, be returning to my home."

Mako cleared his throat and stood, revealing that he was wearing his police officer's uniform. "I'll give you a lift. There's just one place we need to stop first. I'm going to need to ask you a few questions about what happened last night." His face pinched. "As well as about your past."

Amon stared down the other man. So that was how it was going to be. He nodded his head in small bow. "Very well."

.*.*.*.

Amon sat placidly in the back seat as Mako drove the Satomobile off the ferry. So far, the firebender had not said a word, and Amon did not feel the need to make conversation. He knew everything he needed to know, anyway. A man who, like him, had lost family to corrupt firebenders. Instead of rejecting bending like Amon, he had embraced it, first as a pro-bender and now as a police officer. He had also been the object of Korra's affection for quite some time, and Korra had mentioned that it had been a turbulent failed courtship due to their similarities. Headstrong, driven, stubborn. Amon could use that to his advantage.

As they drove away from the port, Mako finally spoke: "So, when I'm referencing your file at the station, should I look under Zoran or Amon?"

Already, he was trying to get under his skin. Amon did not flinch. "Neither name will get you much information."

"You have a lot of crimes to answer for, some of them serious war crimes."

"Amon is dead. His crimes died with him."

Mako bounced a glare at him through the rear view mirror. "We have Amon's fingerprints."

"But I do not." He held up his hand, the swollen fingertips perfectly smooth. He did not doubt they would grow back, but for now, there was at least one benefit to the uncontrollable firebending from the night before.

Mako's yellow eyes narrowed, then snapped back to the road. "We can match your voice."

"Circumstantial evidence, at best. Besides, Avatar Korra herself witnessed Amon's death."

"She was also under his influence." There was the glare through the mirror again – did the boy really think he was intimidating? "He took advantage of her youth, convinced her that she was in love with him. It was a game of manipulation."

"Interesting." Amon sat as straight as he could, though the car roof was too low for him. "I heard that he actually loved her. That their love was so powerful that it transcended opposition, political ideals, and even death itself."

"You hear some strange rumours, Amon."

"Please: my name is Zoran." He could see frustration in the clenched jaw: already, the officer knew that he wasn't going to get anything useful out of his captive.

The corner of Amon's lips lifted.

At the station, he followed Mako down to the interrogation room.

As they walked past Tarrlok's cell, the former Councillor traced Amon's path as always. This time, however, there was a smirk on his face. Amon eyed him.

"You've bitten off more than you can chew this time," said Tarrlok. "I told you: you're going to need my help."

"Hey." Mako cocked his nose at the prisoner. "Silence."

The smirk broadened into a grin. "You can take my bending and my freedom, but never my voice."

Mako's face twitched. "Keep moving," he muttered.

"Zoran," called Lee as they walked past his cell. "How's the head today?"

"It's the least of my problems," said Amon with a friendly nod.

"You have a lot of friends in here." Mako opened the door to the interrogation room. "How many of them took the fall for you?"

"I am here to answer questions about last night's events." Amon walked into the room and took the same seat he had been in the night before – it seemed as if it were days ago. "Isn't another officer supposed to be here as well?"

"Eventually. I'm doing the pre-questioning." There was no humour in Mako's smile. "You might want to get comfortable. This is going to take a few hours."

Amon closed his eyes, his head throbbing.

.*.*.*.

The interrogation took most of the day. Amon leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped, and played his hand. It was an easy rhythm: acknowledge all questions about Zoran, and deny all questions about Amon. Mako's brows dropped further and further as the day progressed. He questioned him about everything – the Equalist attacks, the incidents with the Red Monsoons, even the incident with Tarrlok – except for his relationship with Korra. An interesting avoidance, Amon noted, given that Korra was his most obvious weakness. The kid was either too green or too timid to dig at vulnerabilities, which made it easier to maintain half-truths.

After several hours – Amon's stomach told him that it was nearing the evening – Chief Lin Beifong entered the room and stood beside Mako. "Any luck?"

The firebender threw his arms in the air. "He won't crack, ma'am."

"I don't know how you can possibly hope to get any more information out of me when I have already recounted the entire truth," said Amon coolly.

Lin cocked a brow at him, then began to thumb through Mako's notes, her lips pursing. "This corroborates Councillor Midori's version of events for the incident last night. There were two witnesses as well, and their account matches. I think we can safely label this a self-defense case."

"I was hoping to get him to confess to being Amon," said Mako.

Lin's steely green eyes pierced through Amon, and for the first time during the interrogation, he felt his skin crawl with discomfort. While Mako had maybe two or three years of experience under his belt, Lin was a seasoned veteran. She squared herself into a solid earthbending stance. He heard the curl of metal from the ground, and realized that she had peeled the metal boot back to bare her feet. There had long been rumours of a legendary Beifong ability to sense lies through vibrations, using bare feet as a conduit.

"State your name and position," said the chief.

"Zoran, assistant to Councillor Midori." Amon wondered if vibrations betrayed half-truths.

"State your element."

He hesitated, his stomach knotting. "I am a non-bender."

Her green eyes narrowed.

"Firebending," he corrected, the word so bitter in his mouth that he longed to spit it out.

"What is your relationship to Avatar Korra?"

Amon took a long, deep breath to steady himself. This was where his story began to unravel. "We are lovers." His eyes slid to Mako, whose lips had twisted at the words, and gave him a cool stare.

Lin stepped forward and stood tall, looming over him. A common trick, one he had used often to intimidate his foes. "Lovers. An affair?"

"Affair isn't the right word for it."

"A relationship, then. How long?" As her voice grew stronger and louder, sweat began to bead on his forehead. He was grateful for the deep hood.

"A year."

"You're lying," she said.

"No, just confused. The relationship has been somewhat turbulent."

"And when did this turbulence begin?"

"Two years ago," he said.

"Still lying."

Mako folded his arms over his chest. "Four years?"

A muscle in Amon's jaw twitched. "Four years," he conceded.

Chief Beifong's palms pressed to the table and she leaned closer. "Would Korra lie to protect you?"

"Possibly, but she's not a very good liar."

The chief studied him very carefully. Another common intimidation technique: she was trying to get him to anticipate the next question. He stilled his mind and waited, not allowing his gaze to waver.

"Are you Amon?"

"I'm Zoran. Amon is dead."

"I'm not hearing a no."

"Then, no. I am not Amon." He kept his breath focused as he said it, speaking the words with precision and purpose, as if they were a chi attack. Steady. True.

Mako slung his satchel on the table and pulled out the three black masks. "Then what are these?"

"They're for a costume." Lifting his eyes and staring straight into the officer's, he added, "I do an excellent Amon impression. Avatar Korra is particularly fond of it."

The words elicited a sneer, and Amon felt a flicker of smug satisfaction.

Lin cocked her head at the door for Mako to follow her. Huddling by it, the chief and the officer spoke in hushed voices. Amon idly drummed his fingertips on the table, listening to his stomach growl. He was beginning to wish that he had taken the time to sit down for breakfast after all. Or had at least asked for a lunch break.

Chief Beifong stepped forward. "We thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Zoran. There will be no charges laid at this time. We may be in touch with you in the future for further questions."

Mako stood beside her, arms folded over his chest, eyes hooded in a glare.

"Of course," said Amon. "Thank you for the pleasant company. Officer Mako, in particular, was a joy to speak with." He repacked his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, then sauntered from the room, careful not to show how relieved he was to have made it past the chief's questioning. The door closed behind him.

He stopped dead. Midori was standing next to Lee's cell; the two were huddled in earnest conversation. Lee's eyes met Amon's, then darted away. The Councillor would not turn to look at him. Sighing, he walked toward them.

"Midori-" **  
**

"Stay away," she said without turning. **  
**

"I need to explain to you what happened last night." **  
**

"You should probably leave," said Lee without looking up.

"I assure you-"

Midori whirled, tears in her eyes. "Go!" she snarled.

The word gripped Amon's lungs, squeezed out all the air. It might have even brought tears to his eyes if he hadn't been distracted by a shout from the next cell over: **  
**

"Well, well, well. It certainly doesn't take long for a man's life to crumble, does it, Amon?" **  
**

Tarrlok. **  
**

His brows dropping, Amon marched to the ex-Councillor's cell and slammed his palms against the bars. "You are strangely interested in my life, Tarrlok." **  
**

The ex-Councillor's blue eyes glinted beneath stringy hair, an ugly grin plastered across his lips. He stepped forward to grip the bars, pressing forward until his nose was level with Amon's. "Tell me, Amon: how does it feel to have everything around you turn to dust, knowing that it was by your own hand?"

"That is a question you should ask yourself."

"I have. Over and over. It's hard not to when you have nothing to do all day but pace around a cell – though I suppose you will find that out soon enough yourself, if they get enough evidence on you. But that is the least of your worries now."

Amon stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back. "No more riddles. No more hints. What are you referring to?"

"I hear your Equalist party got some unexpected support from the Avatar in Council today," said Tarrlok, his voice so low that Amon had to step closer. As the conversation narrowed to just the two of them, Amon saw that the ex-Councillor was a lot more sane than he was pretending to be. The glint in his eye sharpened, and his tone grew civilized. Amon's defenses rose immediately: Tarrlok was going to try to manipulate him.

"What do you mean?" asked Amon.

"It seems Avatar Korra spoke in favour of your Red Monsoons proposal."

Through the haze of drunken memories, Amon vaguely remembered Korra mentioning that she was going to support his proposal. "How could you possibly know what happened in Council today?"

Tarrlok shrugged as if to dismiss the question. "There are those who remain loyal to me, who see my mistakes for what they were: mistakes. But that is unimportant, for your purposes. You should be focused on the fact that your political party and your lover - I'm sorry, I don't mean to presume. Avatar Korra is still your lover, is she not? Otherwise you would have gone into hiding instead of brazenly showing your face around town."

Amon stared him down. Tarrlok's smirk twitched, then faded, and he cleared his throat and continued:

"Councillor Midori and Avatar Korra are both on record declaring war against the Red Monsoons. This should worry them, and it should worry you."

"Council discussions are behind closed doors only."

Tarrlok raised a thick brow. "Don't be naive, Amon. You yourself had Equalist spies planted within the Council, did you not? Don't you think a wide-reaching gang like the Red Monsoons would be taking similar precautions?"

Amon struggled to keep a frown off his lips. It wasn't naivete so much as vanity on his part: he couldn't bring himself to believe that a group of thugs could have penetrated the city as deeply as his revolution. Apparently the Red Monsoons problem ran even deeper than he had thought.

"Midori is already under police protection," he said. "And even the bloodbenders among the Red Monsoons will not be able to touch Avatar Korra."

"I managed just fine, once," said Tarrlok, and at the smug tone in his voice, heat rose in Amon's chest. He swallowed it back, annoyed that firebending had so suddenly become a reflex.

"She was not a fully-realized Avatar then," he replied. "Now the Avatar State provides her with protection from most bending."

"Your love has blinded you with naive optimism. Back when you were leading the Equalists-" Here, Amon opened his mouth to protest, and Tarrlok waved him off. "Yes, yes: Amon is dead. Humour me: hypothetically, if you were leading the Equalists, and you had to take Avatar Korra out of the picture, and your weapons were useless, what would you do?"

"Build a better weapon. And yet, the Equalists never did build a weapon strong enough to trump the Avatar State. It is nearly invulnerable." Memories he had buried rose to the surface: plans to trigger the Avatar State in Korra, then kill her. The plan had always been for Amon to battle her individually, a sacrifice to permanently end the cycle. If only he had known back then that it was his existence – his possession of a portion of the Avatar spirit – that made this plan an impossibility. So long as he had lived, she had been unable to trigger the state. So many of his goals had been futile...

Tarrlok's voice snapped him back to the present. "Do not be lulled into complacency. She may be in danger still."

Amon's eyes narrowed. "Why tell me this?"

"You may find this hard to believe," said Tarrlok, "but I only ever wanted what was best for this city. My actions may have been misguided, but my goals were altruistic. Even though she took everything from me, to lose the Avatar would be a catastrophe from which this world would never recover."

The words resonated with Amon – he and Tarrlok weren't so different – but he was not going to let himself be swayed so easily. "No. You're giving me this information because you want something in return." **  
**

"Of course I am. But that doesn't negate anything else I've said." The ex-Councillor's voice dropped even lower, and Amon leaned close, almost nose-to-nose with the man. "I can give you valuable information about the Red Monsoons. Locations. Hide-outs. Names."

"And in return?" **  
**

Tarrlok's eyes were ice. "My freedom."

"I don't have the political power to-"

The prisoner cut him off, saying each word as if it were a full sentence: "By any means necessary." **  
**

A door slammed from the end of the hallway. Mako and Chief Beifong. Amon stood tall, stepping away from the cell. **  
**

"Consider it," hissed Tarrlok.

It was possible that everything about this was a trap, but it wouldn't hurt to take a few precautions. Amon walked toward the pair of officers. "Avatar Korra may be in danger."


	7. VI: Overwhelmed

**VI**

**Overwhelmed**

Korra flopped back onto her bed, dropping her forearm over her eyes; thanks to the motion, her wrist clunked against her forehead, and she winced, clutching the sore spot. She kept forgetting that she had a metal bracelet on underneath – this was the third time she had smacked herself.

"It would be easier if it weren't hidden," she muttered, pulling off her cloth bracer to skate her fingers over the surface of the jewelry. It was a beautiful, simple piece, and Amon's description of it had endeared it to her even more. Thinking back to when they first met, she wondered how she would have reacted if anyone told her how tender and loving the man could be. She probably would have laughed until she cried.

He was a good partner.

Would everything go back to normal between them if it turned out that she wasn't pregnant? Could it, after all the unhappiness they had revealed to one another? She lay her hand on her abdomen, checking again for any changes. Still solid muscle, with no discernible padding or bump.

Heavy with fatigue, her eyes slid closed, and she was so exhausted that half-dreams floated in front of her closed eyelids, painting her thoughts in hyper-saturated colours. She recalled their time trapped in the cave, the explosive start to a love that took them both by surprise. The turmoil of their short-lived relationship, his death, his departure...

It was the three-year gap that frightened her the most to recall. Three entire years with absolutely no contact with him, and she had still awoken each morning with the taste of his tongue in her mouth and the sensation of his hand on her breast. Even when another man lay right next to her, one who had loved her as much as Amon, one who had done everything he could to win her heart.

And then, with Amon's return, the ache to be with him had not subsided – if anything, it continued to grow over the course of the year. Even these four weeks apart had been agony.

It wasn't healthy, she was certain. It wasn't right to be so codependent. Maybe that was why their relationship was suffering: maybe, with everything carefully guarded as a secret, they were forced to vent all the energy from the relationship back into the relationship itself until it had grown out of control and started to consume them. It was like a physical addiction, one they were enabling by restricting themselves to frantic lovemaking in short, secretive visits.

Maybe, emotionally, they were still trapped in that cave.

The hand on her abdomen was clammy and trembling. She gritted her teeth. Too much nervous energy. She could talk through this with Amon later. For now, she needed to stay calm until it was time to visit the doctor, or she would go mad.

If Tenzin were here, he'd probably try to convince her to meditate, but she had a better idea. Reminiscing about the past had lifted other memories to the surface. Her groggy mind conjured images of Amon's hands sliding over her naked skin, his mouth lunging for hers.

The hand on her belly slid lower, beneath the waistband of her pants, and a soft puff of air escaped from her lips. Her imagination conjured Amon lying naked beneath her on a secluded beach, somewhere warm and sunny.

They would have been kissing, but he would suddenly stop, grip her hips with firm hands and roll her over, pressing her back into warm, soft sand.

The fantasy began to play out, dream-like, in her mind:

_"I want you to use the water," he says, his voice deep and authoritarian. She lifts liquid from the ocean and teases him with a strand of water, trailing it down his shoulder and chest, leaving slick skin in its wake. It slides along the muscled ridges that line his ribcage, down the path of soft hair that trails his firm abdomen. His voice is heavy with restraint as he tells her to stop._

_"No. Use it on yourself." His yellow eyes arrest her with their intensity. "Follow my lead with the stream of water."_

_His fingers drift along her collarbone and around the bottom of her breast, back up to where he started. Obediently, she follows with the strand of water, tracing the full loop._

_"Leave it circling there," he says firmly. "Now, another one." Then he traces a hand along the groove of her outer abdomen, triggering chi points along the way that make her skin hum. This path snakes down to the inside of her thigh. As the water douses the heat left behind by his hand, she begins to ache for release so badly that she tries to subtly shift the stream of water, but he catches her wrist and shakes his head. "The other side first."_

_Soon the water streams whirl across both sides of her body, stroking her skin, strategically avoiding the sensitive areas that could actually give her release. His eyes are narrow, cheeks flushed with arousal, voice strained with desire as he watches her._

_"Make the water cooler," he commands, and her body erupts into goosebumps. "Now warmer." She begs him to let her shift the streams just an inch closer to centre. "One more moment," he says. His eyes trace every inch of her, taking sadistic delight in the frustration that he is carefully orchestrating, but also admiring her skills as a waterbender._

_In her fantasies, at least, it is something he appreciates._

The thought interrupted the glow that had been building inside her. The beach and Amon dissipated, and she was alone in her cold bedroom.

"Dammit." She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force herself to continue, but now memories of their argument the night before were flooding her mind.  _Not now._ She struggled to keep her focus, but the sound of booted footsteps running through the hallway did not help.

A knock sounded on the door frame. "Korra?"

She swore and sat upright, recovering her roving hand. "Asami?"

"May I come in?"

Korra hesitated. She considered asking for five more minutes, but there had been an urgency to the woman's voice. "Yeah, I guess." The breathlessness she heard in her own voice was so embarrassing that she bit her lip.

The door slid open and Asami stepped through, then closed it. Korra slid over so that she could sit on the bed beside her.

"I just got a call from Mako," said Asami. "He wanted to warn you that the Red Monsoons may be looking to retaliate for your outspokenness against them in Council today."

Korra snorted. "I'd like to see them try."

Her friend smirked. "I figured that might be your reaction, but he insisted I pass on the message. But that's not all I wanted to talk to you about." Her smile faded and she slid her palms along the tops of her thighs, suddenly unable to look Korra in the eye. "I wanted to ask you something."

Korra wished she was better at reading emotions. "What is it?"

The woman looked away. "Zoran – Amon. How did you forgive him for all he did, and all he planned to do during the war?"

It was such an odd question that for a moment, Korra studied her friend, trying to determine a motive. She shifted, folding her legs beneath her. "I'm not sure I ever did forgive all that. It's more like I tolerate it. Focus on the fact that we both had the same goals and ignore the means." She frowned, her fingers running over the metal surface of the bracelet. "I think he does the same for me."

"I never considered that as an option," said Asami quietly.

"Well, I'm not sure it's working. You heard us fighting last night, right?" Korra glanced at her. "You said you hear us often. How long have you known that I was seeing Amon again?"

She considered. "About a year now."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Asami shrugged. "I didn't think it was my place. You seemed happy, and no one else could have possibly found out. You were discreet." She looked away again. "Does he... Does he ever talk about my father?"

Korra thought of Amon's descriptions of the broken Hiroshi Sato, shrivelling in a jail cell, refusing all visitors. How back in the days of the war, Amon had once accidentally walked in on him sobbing over a picture of his broken family. "I think he misses you."

"I miss him, too." Asami closed her eyes. "Especially with all this wedding planning. I really wish—" She suddenly sat upright. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have something happier to discuss with you."

Korra hesitated. "Are you sure? We can keep talking about-"

"No, I'd rather not." Her friend's hands swabbed at damp eyes, somehow managing to avoid smudging the mascara and eyeliner. "I've been talking it over with Mako, and I wondered if you might like to stand up with me at the wedding. As a bridesmaid."

"A bridesmaid?" A flush rose to the Avatar's cheeks. "I would be so honoured."

Asami beamed. "Wonderful; I'm so glad you agreed. You do realize that I'm going to dress you up and paint your face and nails, right?"

"As long as you don't mind me scratching at my face during the ceremony. Does this mean you've picked a date?"

"Three months tomorrow."

"So soon! Do you need help planning?"

Her friend cocked an eyebrow. Korra smirked.  _She knows me well._ "Okay, maybe that isn't really my thing. But I can help you lift heavy things, and keep Mako off your back so you can get tasks done."

"Sounds good." Asami stood. "I'll start ordering in some cloth samples. There's a shade of green that I think will really set off your eyes and skin. You're going to look so beautiful." She walked to the door. "Thanks, Korra. It was nice to talk to you. We haven't had many chances to chat lately."

The statement didn't have one hint of malice to it, but the smile faded from Korra's face anyway. "No, we haven't." Now that she thought about it, she hadn't made much time for her friends at all lately, between Amon and Council duties. If tonight's visit to the doctor went the wrong way, that would mean that she would have even less time in the future.

Her stomach suddenly plummeted. There were several cultural differences between water tribe and fire nation weddings, and there was one in particular that could be a sticking point. "Wait, Asami. Are you and Mako having a traditional fire nation style of wedding?"

"More or less."

"Then..." Korra swallowed hard. "I might not be able to be your bridesmaid."

The woman's face fell. "Oh."

The next words froze on Korra's tongue. Once she spoke them, she wouldn't be able to take them back – but there stood Asami, her only girlfriend, who had lost her mother and been betrayed by her own father. Any lie Korra could concoct was going to be construed as rejection: it would crush her. Besides, this was a woman had kept Korra's affair with Amon a secret from everyone, even Mako. She could be trusted.

"Asami," said Korra quietly, "in your culture, there are certain superstitions that are important, right? Like, it's bad luck for a bridesmaid to be with child?"

The woman stared at her for a moment, her mouth slightly ajar, then crossed the room and sank down in front of her. "Korra, are you pregnant?"

"I don't know." Korra felt her eyes fill with tears; she blinked them back.

Brows peaked with concern, Asami studied her. "Are you okay?"

The words punctured Korra, deflated her. She fell forward into her friend's arms, sobbing.

"I'm sorry," she blubbered. "I'm scared. I'm trying so hard to be strong, but I'm so, so scared. If I am pregnant, then everything changes. I don't want everything to change. I don't want a kid yet and I don't to lose Amon and I don't want scandal." She wove her fingers into Asami's hair like a small child seeking comfort from its mother.

Her friend rubbed her back. "When do you find out?"

"I'm leaving for the doctor in half an hour," said Korra, the words distorted by sobs.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Korra pulled away, rubbing her face with both hands and sniffling. "I don't know. I didn't even let Amon come with me."

"It might be easier if you have someone along." Asami was looking at her with so much concern that Korra's tears began to flow again.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'd like that."

.*.*.*.

Amon's feet traced the familiar path to Feng's store, intent on returning the herbal package. Still jumpy from the night before, his eyes tracked every passerby, paranoid that a member of the Red Monsoons might jump at him from the shadows.

At least there would be protection when he arrived back at his apartment. Chief Beifong had taken Korra's safety seriously; she had also offered up protection for Amon and Midori. Three officers were standing guard at Midori's home, two at Amon's, and two were to be sent to Air Temple Island in addition to Mako. After sharing barracks with hundreds of Equalist soldiers, thousands near the end, Amon definitely believed in safety in numbers.

Even alone, however, he crossed the park without incident and turned onto the market street. It was even quieter than usual: windows were shut even though it was an unusually hot day. He would have thought that the gang would be licking their wounds, but he supposed their numbers were greater than the dozen he had encountered the night before. Perhaps he had only infuriated them and made the whole situation worse; that seemed to be the way events had been proceeding lately.

He pushed open the door to Feng's shop, the familiar chimes announced his arrival.

The stench of rotting flesh brought him to a halt before his eyes had even registered the damage.

Shelves were tipped, boxes upended and scattered across the shop. Books lay in small lakes around the sodden wooden floor. "Feng?" Amon's boots sloshed through the mess; shattered glass clanked together in the puddles. His eyes hesitantly scoured the mess for his friend.

"Feng, answer me," he said, even though the scent told him that it was futile.

As he progressed deeper into the shop, crimson curdled amidst the muddy water. It was thickest around the sales counter, soaking through from the other side. The scent was strongest here.

He already knew what he would find on the other side of the counter.

He vaulted the counter top and landed lightly on the other side, his feet narrowly missing Feng's body. Even though he had expected it – dreaded it – he stared at it, unable to process that it was real. He had seen corpses before, but never one this distorted. It looked fake, like the grotesque painting of a deranged artist.

Gags wracked his body, and he covered his nose and mouth with the back of his hand; the motion did little to block the overpowering scent. Against every instinct, he bent to take a closer look. The body was waterlogged and bloated, broken blood vessels coating the skin and eyeballs. There was no mistaking the work of the Red Monsoons: Feng had been bloodbent and drowned. Amon bowed his head and closed the man's eyelids, whispering a quick prayer to the spirits.

What angered him the most was that judging by the state of the body, Feng had lain there more than a day – possibly since soon after their last meeting two days ago. With the door unlocked, there had certainly been other customers entering the store, and not one of them had reported that anything was amiss.

The Red Monsoons had citizens so scared that they had lost their humanity.

Amon understood the power of fear. It was a tool that could be abused, like bending. In his Equalist days, he had used it to rally support, to silence oppressors and incite motivation. It had been a way to reach out. The Red Monsoons, however, were using it to leech off of others, to shut everyone else down except themselves. That selfishness offended him almost as much as the misuse of bending.

As he stood, his eyes were drawn to a half-wrapped package beside the cash register, addressed to "Councillor Midori c/o Zoran". Judging by the shredded paper, it looked as if the attackers had examined it and found it worthless. Amon pulled off the paper and opened the box, revealing a small packet of herbs and a book that read "Teas of the Earth Kingdom" on the dust jacket. His brows furrowed as he smelled the herbs. While Midori had some odd tastes in drink concoctions, this one was excessively unappetizing; the scent was closer to skunkweed than an aromatic tea. He settled the book and the herbs in his satchel. His hand hovered over the herbal brick that he had intended to return. Might as well keep it now: one last gift from Feng.

He picked up the telephone receiver and put through a call to the police. He, at least, still had some humanity left.

Briefly closing his eyes, he murmured a quick goodbye to his acquaintance, then departed.

He would find the monsters who had done this, and he would make them pay.

.*.*.*.

Korra looped her arm through Asami's, both of them still laughing as they left the water taxi. With the heavy confession out of the way, chatter had been light as they had travelled to the mainland. The sun was setting, the clouds in the sky stained orange, and a warm, contented glow filled Korra's stomach. No matter what happened with the doctor, she would be all right. It was good to remind herself that she had close friends who loved her.

Maybe this could work. She often forgot that she wasn't alone against the world. Nothing she did had to be alone.

"I think I can do this, Asami," she said softly. "If it comes down to it."

Her friend looked at her with a warm smile. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a fantastic mother."

"Really? I think I'd be terrible at it."

"You're already a natural protector, and warm and caring." She affectionately bumped Korra's shoulder. "You see the good in everyone, and have the natural ability to inspire them to follow it."

"Well, thanks, Asami." Korra felt her cheeks grow hot. "I'm glad you came with me. It's cheering to see you so happy."

"I didn't want to say anything, because I don't want to gloat while you're stressed," said Asami, "but the last of my father's funds and property have just been released. I have full control over all his assets."

Korra's eyes widened. "Finally, you have closure." While Asami had had control of the company and most of the assets for some time, the last little bit had been a constant stress on her mind since the Revolution. "Does that mean you're going to be able to buy a house?"

"Even better – one of my father's old rental homes has come available. I can move in immediately."

Korra tried to smile, but couldn't. "I'm going to miss being your neighbour."

"I promise to come visit." Her friend reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "It's on the water, so Mako and I can boat out to see you whenever we want."

"That's good," said Korra, even though it wouldn't be the same. Everything was changing all at once.

They came to a stop in front of a two-story row house, its pale shingles glowing flame-orange in the light. "Here we are." Ice formed in her stomach, but she drew a deep breath and knocked.

There was the sound of shuffling footsteps. "The Avatar, ma'am," came an unfamiliar male voice through the door.

"I'm expecting her," said Midori's voice. As the door swung open, Korra saw purple smudges under her eyes, and the scent of alcohol was heavy on her breath. "Come in, Korra. The doctor is inside. Don't mind the police."

An officer stood on either side of the entrance; they tipped their hats at Korra and Asami as they passed. Midori closed the door at the end of the hallway behind them, sealing the officers out of her living room.

"Must be nice to have people standing guard for you, watching every move," said Korra dryly. She expected a similar scene awaiting her when she returned to the island.

"They make lousy drinking partners, that's for sure. I can lock those two out, at least, but there's a third one hovering around upstairs." Midori sank into a white chair. There were several empty glasses on the table beside her.

For the first time, Korra noticed the doctor. He sat quietly on an immaculate burgundy divan with gold trim, one that was burnt into her mind: it was where she had sat next to Amon when they had first told Midori about their relationship nearly one year earlier. In spite of her paranoia about how the Councillor might react, Amon had insisted that they needed at least one ally. He had turned out to be right, as usual.

"Avatar Korra?" The doctor stood. He was a tall man – even taller than Amon – with curly brown hair and kind blue eyes. "It is a pleasure. I am Dr. Wu, and I will be helping you with your medical needs tonight."

Korra warily held out a hand, unable to equate the youthful, dimpled smile with a trustworthy doctor. She glanced back at Midori for confirmation.

"He'll be quiet," said the Councillor with a nod. "He was our top doctor. I hired him for every major injury we faced during the war, and he never once revealed us."

Korra raised a brow. "Just how involved were you with the Equalists, Midori?"

Finally, the frown cracked; the woman showed a hint of a smirk. She stood. "You can use the guest room for the examination. Will Miss Sato be accompanying you?"

"Please." She needed a hand to squeeze.

The guest room was larger than Korra's back home, sparsely furnished, but with the same ornate furniture style as the living room. Korra lay down on the bed as directed, and the mattress was almost startlingly plush. She gave it a subtle bounce, considering how wonderful the bed would be for sex.

_Stop it. That's what got you into this mess in the first place._ She knew she was just nervous, her mind grabbing at any pleasant thought it could find. Instead, she looked for something tangible: she grabbed Asami's hand. Her friend smiled kindly and sat on the other side of the bed.

"I'll leave you be," said Midori, and she closed the door.

The doctor pulled up a stool. "Shall we get started? I understand that you might be pregnant, correct? I'll start by asking you some questions, and then I'll do a physical exam, first with a few instruments I brought along and then with waterbending, and we'll go from there. I'll let you know what I'm about to do before I do it, so nothing should take you by surprise. Does that sound good?"

"Waterbending?" Korra's eyes widened. "I thought you were an Equalist doctor."

He smiled at her. "You'd be surprised how many Equalists were willing to turn to waterbending when push came to shove."

She thought of all the bending she had done for Amon back when they had been trapped in the cave. "No, I think I'd believe it."

He held up a notebook and a stick of graphite. "Let's begin. When was the start date of your last menstrual cycle?"

Korra glanced at Asami, hoping these questions wouldn't make her friend uncomfortable. "Two and a half months ago, I guess? Maybe three. They weren't always regular, so I kind of lost track."

"And you've had intercourse since then?"

"Yes."

"Regularly?"

Korra couldn't help but notice that Asami's lips quirked up in a smirk; she ignored her. "Yes."

"Once or twice a night sound about right?" whispered Asami.

"Hey, don't make me regret bringing you." Her friend's antics were bringing a blush to her face, but a smile as well. Korra squeezed her hand.

"Any changes in diet or exercise?" Asked the doctor. Eyeing her muscled arms, he added. "Sometimes a low percentage of body fat can disrupt normal cycles."

She shrugged. "Pretty much the same as always."

"Okay," said the doctor, "I'm going to ask you some questions about physical symptoms."

As the questions grew more and more specific, she suddenly wished she hadn't asked her friend to stay. Korra had never been particularly comfortable with some aspects of being female. Asami, however, did not flinch, holding her hand the entire time.

She had expected the physical exam to feel invasive, but the doctor was so professional and clinical that she barely flinched. The waterbending exam lasted longer than the physical exam, and he hovered over her abdomen for what felt like an inordinate amount of time. After he had finished, he made a few more notes.

"Well," he said, turning his back so that she could dress herself again, "I don't have a lot of news for you."

Her heart leaped. "You mean I'm not pregnant?"

"I mean, it's too early to tell." He flipped through his notes. "Often, the early stages of pregnancy present with symptoms that allow me to make an educated guess: digestive changes, slight weight gain, changes in discharge, symptoms in the breasts. Unfortunately, a few women just don't show any noticeable signs until later on. It's quite possible that you could be one of those." He paused on an earlier page. "I did sense some enlargement of your uterus, but that could be either pregnancy or any number of things, all of which could cause amenorrhea."

Korra's heart sank. "So I just have to wait?"

"I'm afraid so. We should have a better idea in about a month."

"A month? That's not acceptable. I can't wait."

"I'm sorry, Avatar Korra," he said, and she could tell that he genuinely was.

Asami's face was gentle. "I'm sorry, too."

Korra gave her a strained smile and withdrew her hands, stood and returned to the living room. She couldn't look at Midori as she slumped down into the divan and rolled her head onto its back, but she could feel the woman's eyes on her.

"Inconclusive," she muttered. "It could take as long as a month for me to show signs."

She heard Midori set down her glass. "Then we have time to prepare for potential political fallout."

"Why is that the first thing anyone ever mentions?" asked Korra. "Why does no one stop to consider my feelings about it?" Her fingertips traced the subtle shape of the bracelet beneath her bracer, seeking comfort in its unyielding shape. "I can't bear the thought of waiting for a month, eyeing my body for the first signs that it might betray me." She remembered how hard it had been to relearn to fight when puberty had hit her, altering her body's centre of gravity in such a jarring way that she had lost the ability to earthbend for nearly a year. No doubt pregnancy would take its toll on her as well.

When she finally looked up, Midori's eyes were locked on her cloth bracer. "It looks like he gave you your gift."

Asami was just wandering back into the room when Korra peeled off the cloth to reveal the silver cuff. "A gift? From Amon?"

Korra nodded. She removed the bracelet and handed it to her friend, who sat beside her on the divan, peering at the inscription.

"It's lovely," said Asami. "'A whisper of a secret.' I never would have guessed that Amon would be romantic."

"He has always been eloquent," said Midori softly. "His words alone inspired thousands to dedicate their lives to him. They eagerly lapped up his story like parched animals. There are not many people in the world who can inspire an army to follow them. Zoran is one. You, Korra, are another."

Asami handed the cuff back to Korra. She examined it, thoughtful. "Midori, did he ever tell you about the source of his ability to strip benders of their powers?"

"No."

"Then it's not my place to, but you should know that much of his propaganda was true. And he and I were spiritually linked from the moment I was born until the moment he left Republic City. Our fates have been intertwined our whole lives, and we're just barely figuring out ourselves as a couple - I don't want this to change things." Her lip wobbled, and she bit it to still it. "But it already is. First we had that huge fight, and then when he was drunk, he asked me to marry him."

"Really?" asked Asami, her eyes brightening. "What did you say?"

Korra shrugged it off. "He was just drunk. He didn't even remember it this morning."

"He loves you," said Midori, with such surprising gentleness in her voice that Korra looked up at her. "I have known Zoran a long time, and while he has been enamoured on occasion, it is nothing even close to what he feels for you. I could see a change in the way he carried himself right from the moment he returned from that cave."

In the silence that followed, Korra smiled to herself.

Asami stood. "I'm sorry, Midori – do you have a powder room I might use?"

"Upstairs, first door on the right."

"Thank you. I'll be back shortly." She climbed the wooden stairs.

The doctor emerged from the bedroom, bag in hand. "Is it all right if I show myself out?"

Midori nodded. "Thank you, Wu. We'll send for you again if there is a change in Korra's condition."

"A full month," groaned Korra, her head falling back on the divan again.

The door closed behind the doctor. For a moment, there was an awkward silence between the Avatar and the Councillor.

"May I see the bracelet?" asked Midori.

"Of course." Korra stood and held it out.

A sharp pain stabbed into her neck.

Haze veiled her vision.

Dimly, she heard Midori yell her name. She tried to respond, but coughed instead, a bark from deep in her gut; blood spattered over her outstretched hand, her bracelet. Tremors seized her muscles, and the floor pitched up toward her.

The last thing she saw was the bloodied bracelet clattering to the ground, rolling toward Midori's feet, and then darkness engulfed her.

.*.*.*.

As Asami stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes locked onto a man in police uniform. He was crouched by the railing that overlooked the living room below, a long metal tube pressed to his mouth.

Before she could process what was happening, the officer spat into the pipe, and a small metallic object shot out the other end.

"Hey!" said Asami, taking a step forward. "What the hell are you doing?"

The officer locked eyes with her, then spun and bolted down the hallway. Asami lunged forward to chase him, but commotion on the lower level caught her attention.

Korra writhed on the floor, spasms jarring her limbs. Red froth oozed from her mouth. Midori was bent over her; she yelled for the police officers.

Asami cried Korra's name.

"Miss Sato?" Midori's eyes snapped up to her. "Go! Get the doctor."

"It was the police officer upstairs!" Asami raced down the stairs two at a time, her eyes locked on her friend.  _Come on, Korra. Go into the Avatar State._ She had seen the state protect the Avatar from many attackers, both internal and external.

Instead, Korra fell unnaturally still. Her skin greyed. Her eyes stared at nothing, empty.

Lifeless.

_No!_

Asami raced for the exit and flung open the door.

She screamed.

The two police officers were frozen to the wall, spikes of ice through their contorted, bloodied torsos. Three shadowy figures stood in the doorway. Asami slammed the door shut just in time to block a blast of ice shards.

"We have to get out of here," she yelled, whirling, but her voice caught in her throat.

Five attackers, all dressed in suits, dropped down from the balcony and landed in a circle around Midori and Korra.

"Run!" yelled Midori as she lunged for the closest attacker. Her knuckles punched up the length of his torso, and his arm fell limp. She ducked a blast of ice and drove her foot into the air, kicking up under the man's chin and sending him flying.

Asami's instincts screamed at her to jump into the fray, but she didn't have her electric glove with her, and there were too many for her to take on without it. She had to get help. There was a large window over the sink in the kitchen – she ran for it.

The police officer who had blown the dart swung into the room on a metal chord and dropped in front of her. His cables snaked at her.

_Traitor._  Launching herself over them, Asami jabbed a finger into one of his eye sockets with lightning-fast speed. As he yelled and clutched at it, she landed and drove a foot into the side of his knee. The crunch made her stomach churn, but it successfully dropped him. She jumped over him and raced into the kitchen.

Two new attackers were outside the sliding glass door in the kitchen, and Asami could see that they were about to kick it in. She hopped onto the counter and grabbed a metal pan from a hook on the wall, then slammed it into the window over the sink. It cracked, but did not break.

Behind her, the sliding door shattered, and she barely ducked in time to avoid a water whip.

With a yell, she slammed the pan through the window. Wrapping her hand in the fabric of her skirt, she punched through the remaining glass and jumped through.

Ice shards slammed into her shoulder blade as she dropped. She huddled back against the building for cover as more shards flew after her.

At first, she ran for the street, but she stopped in her tracks as she saw four cars on Midori's front lawn. More attackers funnelled into the house. A full-out assault.

"Hey!" yelled one of them, pointing at her.

She tore back down the alley, twisting and turning for several blocks. Her hand throbbed from punching out the glass, and panic was making it hard to breathe. Too exhausted to keep up her pace, she ducked behind a dumpster and huddled against it, shivering.

The urge to flee gradually drained from her body, leaving her disoriented and nauseated. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rocked in place, waiting. One minute passed. Two. Sirens sounded in the distance, but she didn't dare show herself. A police officer had been in on the attack – she didn't know who she could trust.

She had to get to Mako.

Still shaking, she pulled herself to her feet.


	8. VII: Ghosts

**VII**

**Ghosts**

Amon clung to the edge of the cliff, waited and listened. Two guards this time, one set of footprints unfamiliar. Good: the Order of the White Lotus was patrolling with the police. He was glad that Chief Beifong and Mako had taken his warning seriously. While he still didn't trust Tarrlok, it was easy enough to strengthen the defenses around Korra and Midori without any real repercussions.

Once the footsteps had faded, he swung onto the plateau and glided toward Korra's room. He supposed that he had a legitimate reason to approach the front door – his hands still needed another healing session, and the scarring wounds were noticeably red and swollen – but after the earlier tension with Tenzin and with Mako, he didn't want to risk any hassle.

It irked him that he made it into her room without being detected. True, he had years of stealth training under his belt, but it wasn't unreasonable to assume that the Red Monsoons might have the same.

Not that it mattered, anyway. Any gang member who crossed Korra's path was bound to regret it.

She wasn't back from the doctor yet, so he set his bag against the wall and sat on the bed. Questions about their future were clouding his mind, and he found himself impatient for answers. His legs folded beneath him and he sat upright, his palms on his knees. Slowly, he channelled his breath in through his nose and out his mouth. The tension in his gut began to abate as he found a soft white space in his mind. A high-pitched hum sang through his ears, growing louder, louder...

_Amon,_ screamed Korra's voice.

He opened his eyes.

The room around him had disappeared. Violet-grey fog filled his vision. He spun, trying to make sense of his surroundings. His limbs felt as though they were sculling through water, sluggish and weightless at the same time.

"Spirit?" he called tentatively, reminded of his childhood rescue.

"Amon!"

Louder this time. Closer. He ran toward the voice, his feet sloshing through the fog.

The haze thinned to reveal Korra, hugging her knees to her chest. Blood was smeared on her limbs and face. As she looked up at him, he could see that her pupils were so dilated that her irises were black.

"Amon." A sobbing hiccup interrupted his name.

"Korra." He knelt before her. "What's happened?"

Her eyes watered. "I'm fading. I can't remember. Amon, why can't I remember?" A ripple of white fog slid across her skin.

Panic squeezed the breath from his lungs. "I don't understand what you are saying," he said, his voice calm in spite of his distress. "Tell me what you are trying to remember, Korra. I can help you." He edged closer, holding out a hand, and she shrank away. His heart ached at the fear in her eyes, fear he hadn't seen since they had first met face-to-face. "Korra, it's me."

"I know who you are," she said coldly. "You will not harm Republic City, Amon. I hate you." Everything about her was pale now, a ghostly version of herself. Her eyes began to roll skyward as her body began to slump.

He yelled her name and dove for her. His arms slipped through her torso, as if she were air.

As if she didn't exist.

Then she vanished, and he was alone.

**.*.*.*.**

Amon's eyes opened. He was still on Korra's bed, feet on the floor, but had fallen to lay flat on his back. Clutching his head, he sat up.

Just a dream. So why were his hands still shaking?

It was dark outside; he could see the moon, nearly full, through the window. A faint layer of clouds over top of it reminded him of Korra fading from his dream, and a shudder ran down his spine.

Exhaustion was still scratching at his eyelids, and he reflected that he hadn't had a solid sleep in several nights. He kicked off his boots and rolled onto his side, breathing in the scent of Korra's pillow. Vanilla and olive oil, from her hair. Beneath it, the undercurrent of sweet, heady pheromones. His pulse quickened.

It was agonizing, waiting here for the announcement that could change everything. He felt as though she were fading away in the waking world, too, like in his dream.

He let his fatigue wash over him, hoping it would shorten the gap of time until she arrived. Maybe this time, his dreams would be comforting.

Sleep had almost found him when a knock at the door jolted him upright.

"Korra?" Mako's voice; from the demanding tone, Amon could tell that the officer was seconds away from barging in. He leaped from the bed, landing noiselessly on his feet, and snatched his bag.

The door slammed open before he could escape. The light flickered on. A second later, a blast of flame narrowly missed Amon's head, cutting him off from the window. He dodged, spinning to land in a crouch.

Mako stood in the doorway, fist still extended; Bolin stood behind him, braced in an earthbending stance.

"Where is she?" hollered Bolin, storming into the room. Mako clamped a hand on his shoulder and jerked him back into formation behind him.

Amon held up his palms. "I don't want to harm you," he said, lacing his deep voice with calmness and a hint of intimidation. "What are you talking about?"

"We know this is from you, that you're the 'A' engraved on the back. Don't try to deny it." Mako held out a plastic bag. Amon's eyes locked onto the silver cuff, spattered with blood, and his jaw tensed.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"You tell us, you monster!" Bolin bolted past his brother, charging. Amon stepped out of the line of attack and, as the boy passed, spun around to his back, hooking his foot under Bolin's to knock him off balance. The boy stumbled and landed heavily against the wall.

"Don't touch him," snapped Mako, sending bolts of fire at Amon, who launched himself into the air and flipped deftly over the flame. He landed at Mako's side and stabbed his fists into the man's chi points to disable his bending.

As he was just finishing, Bolin recovered himself and charged again, surrounded by chunks of earth he had grabbed through the window.

"I don't want to fight either of you," said Amon.

"Liar! I just saw you attack Mako." Bolin's eyes were glassy and his teeth were bared. A block of earth flew at Amon, striking him in the shoulder and knocking him off balance.

Amon's patience wore thin. He struck a chi point in Mako's shoulder blade, dropping the officer to his knees. His hand clamped onto the back of the officer's neck and he raised two fingers to the sky.

"One step closer, and I will equalize him." It was a bluff, but Amon guessed that Korra had never explained the story behind his powers to her friends.

He was correct. Bolin froze, his eyes wide. Below him, sweat rolled down Mako's brow; he looked up at Amon with true fear.

Trying to ignore the rush of satisfaction that flooded his mind, Amon said, "Tell me what happened."

"An attack on Councillor Midori," said Mako, panting. "The bracelet is Korra's. We know that you gave it to her. We have a witness who place both her and Asami there."

Crimson clouded Amon's vision. "Who attacked?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Red Monsoons. They were just getting away as we arrived."

"Then why the hell would you come in here accusing me of taking her?" Amon's grip tightened on the officer's neck.

"Because you were the only non-officer who knew where the officers were stationed," said Mako. "They're all dead or missing."

"And you were in her room," said Bolin, tears in his eyes. "She trusted you."

"Why would I be so stupid as to come here – the place most heavily guarded – if I had done anything to hurt her?" Amon shoved Mako to the ground with disgust. The officer landed on all fours, breathing hard.

"You're right," said Mako without turning around. "We're just used to thinking of you as an enemy." After a pause, he said, "I knew you were Amon."

Amon growled and stormed to the window, slamming his palms on the window ledge. The city lights across the bay were inappropriately placid. He took several deep breaths of the fresh air, trying to calm the burning flames that licked at his chest.

"Korra is gone?"

"Missing," said Mako.

"Midori?"

"Also missing. Asami, too. Two police dead, one Red Monsoon associate."

Amon closed his eyes, focusing on his breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"Korra is nearly impossible to capture," he said. "Now that she is fully realized, the Avatar State protects her."

After a long silence, Mako said, "There was a lot of blood at the scene."

Amon's eyes widened and he whirled to face the officer. "You think she's dead."

From his place on the floor, Bolin began to sob.

Slowly, Amon paced to the bed and dropped onto it. He stared absently at the heaving man on the ground. His dream now seemed morbid, threatening: what if he had met her in the limbo between the material world and the Spirit World?

What if he had witnessed her passing?

He could feel pressure gripping every inch of his body, stretching him in all directions, squeezing all the breath from his lungs. "It is not possible. She is too powerful to be taken out by thugs." And Midori – honest, faithful Midori. His hand rose to his face. "It is not possible," he said again.

Mako had found his way to his feet, brushing off his uniform. "Look, Amon, if you know anything – anything – I need to know. Korra is my dear friend, and Asami..." His voice cracked and he looked away.

"I don't." But he knew someone who might.

Tarrlok.

Amon's hands curled into fists. Was this what the ex-Councillor had alluded to? He'd get answers if he had to beat them out of him.

A commotion sounded in the hallway, and three sets of eyes snapped to the door.

"I told you everything I know! Now let me talk to him," came Asami's voice, shaky.

"Oh spirits," whispered Mako, and he sprinted for the door.

Bolin stood, but squinted at Amon. "If you do anything – anything – to hurt Korra," he said, "I will do everything in my power to end you."

Amon stared evenly back at him. He was surprised to hear such passion coming from the man. He had underestimated him.

"I assure you, Bolin," he said quietly, "I do not wish her any harm."

"She loves you," said the boy, his green eyes dropping away. "She always has."

Ah, so he was finally going to broach that topic. Amon cleared his throat. "Now is not the time to discuss this."

From the hallway, he heard Mako bark: "Give her some space. Go join the others on patrol or something. We'll be back out in a minute."

Mako led Asami into the room. There were smudges of blood on her cheek, but they didn't look as if they belonged to her. Her face was stained with smeared makeup, and her eyes were unnaturally wide.

"Zoran!" She lunged for him, gripping the front of his tunic. "They attacked us."

"Tell us what happened," said Amon, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"She needs a minute to rest," snapped Mako, but Asami cut him off.

"I'm okay, Mako. It was one of the officers – he had darts that were poisoned with something, I don't know what. I saw him fire it. It hit Korra in the neck and she dropped, convulsed, and blood frothed from her mouth and she just...stopped moving. Her skin turned grey." Her voice shook. "Midori was putting up a fight, but there were so many of them. She told me to run for help...and..." Her tears finally won over. Mako pulled her away and embraced her.

Amon stared numbly at the floor. If poison had caught Korra off guard, it could have killed her before she had the chance to use the Avatar State. It had been one of their plans for taking her out should his attempt to kill her in the Avatar State fail: trail her, wait until the state faded, and poison her. His throat twisted at the reminder. Was this fate's sick sense of humour, throwing his most dishonourable plan back in his face? The previously upsetting possibility of her being pregnant was nothing compared to the possibility that she might be...

He couldn't bring himself to think the word.

"How badly was Korra hurt?"

Asami curled against Mako's chest and for a moment, she didn't speak.

"Miss Sato," said Amon.

"She was...she was gone."

He stared at her. The words didn't make sense, as if she had suddenly switched to a foreign language. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Her skin was grey, and she wasn't moving, not even breathing. And I thought the Avatar State might kick in – it has before when she was unconscious – and it didn't come." She paused, her lip wobbling. "Her eyes were so dead. So lifeless."

Amon felt a snap deep within himself, the severing of a chord between his mind and his emotions. For a moment, he stared numbly at her.

"Impossible," he said finally.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

He growled and stalked toward the window.

"Hold up," said Mako. "Where are you going?"

Without answering, Amon gripped the window ledge, preparing to leap over it.

"Wait!"

When he didn't stop, a blast of fire whipped past his head – he really should have done a longer-lasting chi-block on the officer.

"Take me with you," said Mako. "I can help."

"You'll slow me down." Amon didn't add that his plan was going to involve an illegal visit to two prisoners, so he couldn't have a police officer along.

"I'm coming, too," said Bolin. "Korra would have done the same for us. Team Avatar sticks together."

"Then Team Avatar should stick together, and I'm going alone."

"What if we don't let you?" Mako flared fire on his fingertips, ignoring Asami's protests. Bolin stood beside him, lifting the same shattered chunks of earth he had held before.

Amon darted forward, easily rolling past the blasts of flame and earth. One jab into Mako's neck, another into Bolin's, and they slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"My apologies, Miss Sato," he said to Asami. "They'll awaken in about ten minutes with a bit of a headache."

"I was going to offer to come with you," she said. "I think I'll hold my tongue."

"That is wise." He turned and was almost at the window when she spoke:

"I wish I had stopped the officer before the dart hit. I didn't catch on in time." She paused. "I'm so sorry. I failed her."

Without acknowledging her words, Amon jumped over the windowsill.

.*.*.*.

An officer was standing guard at the docks, and he saluted. "Zoran, sir. We're doing everything we can to find Councillor Midori."

Amon ignored him, storming past him to hire a water taxi.

Once they pulled away from the dock, Amon sat toward the back of the boat and folded his legs beneath him, closing his eyes. He focused deep within himself, seeking the hum and foggy area where he had seen Korra. Perhaps it had only been a dream after all, but his previous interactions with her and with spirits had shown him that anything was possible when the Avatar was involved.

Either it had been a dream, or his brain was too cluttered to meditate properly, because he could not reach her.

The numbness was beginning to fade. His emotions were balling up in his stomach, and he knew that the only way to reduce that ball was to vent it – cry or yell or hit something. These were not options on the suffocatingly small boat, so instead he turned and looked back across the water to Air Temple Island. It stood tall, windows glowing with warmth in the darkening sky, so serene and uncaring that he hated it.

Movement in the bay caught his eye. Another boat. Following him. Amon's eyes narrowed. In his haste, he must have failed to properly disable the brothers. They were tenacious, he would give them that.

"I've changed my mind," he said. "Land in the eastern docks." Stopping there would give him the opportunity to stop by his apartment, anyway.

"Of course, sir," said the taxi handler.

Amon watched the tailing craft to see if it changed course. When it didn't, his clenched fists relaxed. The last thing he needed was Officer Mako following him.

.*.*.*.

The city was deceptively quiet as Amon left the eastern docks. It was a short walk to his building, and not a busy route; he held closely to the shadows anyway, not wanting to spark any further violence should any Red Monsoons be milling about.

An officer was patrolling outside his building. Amon grimaced: he did not wish to be seen. The fewer people who could trace his path tonight, the better.

Timing his entrance to avoid the officer's patrol, Amon opened the front entrance a crack. Two more officers were guarding his door. Helpful. Growling, he let the door slide closed again and backed onto the street. He slipped in through the window instead.

Dim light flooded through the glass from the streetlight outside, allowing him to see without turning on the lights. The apartment was tiny, so small that he couldn't open his closet door all the way without hitting his bed. He could have afforded something much nicer, but he didn't see the need. This was a step up from all his previous accommodations – at least it was private.

With his teeth clenched so tightly that sparks of pain shot along his jaw, he began to rifle through his closet. His fingers felt for the familiar fabric and, finding it, lifted the tunic out of the closet. It was nearly identical to the iconic grey tunic he had worn during his Equalist days, double-breasted and with full coat-tails, but the fabric was black.

If the Red Monsoons wanted Amon, then he would give them Amon. The identity was his greatest weapon, and he was going to go to every length possible to retrieve Korra's body – and punish those responsible.

He stripped and donned his most comfortable black shirt and pants, then tugged the tunic into place. It felt cozy and familiar, as did his old shoulder pads. His leather gauntlets, however, were stiff; they had been purchased shortly before his showdown with Tarrlok, after the accident in the cave had destroyed his old ones, and he had never quite broken them in. They pinched his burns when he flexed his hand. He pulled on his old leather boots as well. The soles were soft: ideal for sneaking.

Finally, he lifted the masks out of his pack. Black, like shadow: fitting for the mission he was about to undertake.

But one thing was missing. If Amon was going to return, then he had to have his iconic look. He didn't have time to fully paint the mask, but he could at least paint in the most recognizable part.

Quietly, so as not to alert the officers outside, he slid open the bottom draw of his dresser. In the corner were the jars of paint he had purchased months prior with the intention of properly painting up a mask one day. He pulled out jars and held them up to the streetlight until he found the red paint and the circular stencil.

A single red circle in the centre of the forehead. The symbol of chi point that could lock and unlock bending. The symbol of a red dawning sun. It had a new layer of meaning now: the colour of blood that had been spilled, and the blood that would be spilled in retribution.

As Amon buckled the mask into place, he felt complete.

He turned to the mirror, taking it in. His eyes were drawn to his masked forehead. The red paint had not yet dried when he had put on the mask: it was running down the bridge of the nose, like drips of blood.

Thinking the words was one thing, but to see the imagery... Amon's mind flashed to the blood on Korra's bracelet. He pictured her laying on the floor as Asami had described: grey skin, bloody froth at her mouth, a dead stare in her beautiful blue eyes.

Blue eyes that would never again light up when he walked into a room, would never again stare through him, heavy with seduction. Blue eyes that would never crinkle at the edges when she smiled, fill with tears when she was vulnerable.

For the first time, he began to grasp the reality that she was gone.

_Korra..._

A sob flew from his lips.

He dropped to his knees, tore off the mask and threw it; it clattered across the floor in the dark room. His forearms slammed against his face, and he curled over them, shoulders heaving. He hadn't wept like this since he had been a new orphan mourning the death of his family. Tears streamed down his arms and dripped from his elbows as he rocked in place.

It was his fault, he knew. He had been the one to stir up the Red Monsoons, the one to give Korra and Midori the idea to unify against them. Just like his parents, his sister, the father of the little girl he had rescued from the bloodbender, Feng: every time he stood up to something, it swallowed whole the very people he was trying to protect.

He slammed a fist into the floor so hard that the burn scars throbbed.  _I will destroy you_ , he had told her during their first meeting. How right he had been.

The shuddering sobs were catching in his throat, choking him until he started coughing. He rolled onto his back, wheezing, trying to catch his breath. Tears ran into his ears.

He should have gone to her the instant he knew she was in danger. Maybe he could have protected her where Asami and Midori and the police and the Avatar State had all failed.

Midori – from what Asami had described, Midori might still be alive. He couldn't break down yet, not while there was a hope of saving her.

He clamped an arm over his eyes and sniffled, trying to force himself to calm down. It was time to plan his next move. He could mourn properly later, once Midori was safe.

First, he would hunt down the Red Monsoons and tear them apart. Raw violence was normally too inelegant for him, but the idea of Korra writhing in pain as the life ebbed from her body made him want to slowly torture all of them, one at a time, while the others watched and dreaded their turns. He would destroy every last one.

Once they had been dealt with, and once Korra's body had been laid to rest and Midori was either safe or buried – he couldn't deal with the thought of burying both, so he quickly left this thought behind – he would leave Republic City. He would be a wanted man by then, anyhow, the deaths of dozens of Red Monsoons on his hands. He would take up residence in the Earth Kingdom and start a new life, waiting for news of the new Avatar. It was sixteen years until the child would be named, but maybe he could infiltrate the Order of the White Lotus and get a head start on the general public. From the moment he knew the new Avatar's identity, he would dedicate his life to stay by the child's side. Though he couldn't train the new Avatar in any form of bending, he could be a chi-blocking instructor and a diplomacy coach. An adviser and a friend.

He had failed to protect Korra in this incarnation, and so he would do absolutely everything he could to protect her in the next.

The thought of protection reminded him of the police. He sat up, straining his ears to listen for the officers outside the door. With some embarrassment, he reflected that his weeping should have been loud enough to attract their attention. When he cracked open the door, however, there was no one there. At least something was going his way.

He stepped into the bathroom to blow his nose and splash water on his face, eager to erase all signs that he had broken down. His hair was scattered and loose about his face, so he used liberal amounts of gel to slick it back so that it would not interfere with any fighting he was about to undertake. Even in the dim light, he could see that his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his nose still flushed at the tip. Tears still pricked at his eyes, threatening to surface again, and he braced himself on the sink and took several deep breaths. Later. Once this was all done, he could curl into a ball and sob for a week if he needed it. Right now, he had a mission.

As he was about to leave, Amon bent to retrieve his new mask.

The dripping red was the perfect symbolism, he decided. The Red Monsoons had spilled so much blood that it was their turn to bleed.

He pulled on black gloves and shoved the other two masks in his bag, then stood by the windowsill. The officers were patrolling below. Once they passed, he would depart.

It was time to pay Tarrlok a visit.

.*.*.*.

There was blinding white light, then violet-grey fog. Buoyant. Filmy. It clung to Korra's skin.

Her eyes opened, and there was still only the fog, as far as she could see. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision, but eyes open or closed, the view was the same. Wisps of fog were curling around her limbs. She shook her arm, and the wisps dissolved in a puff.

_Am I in the spirit world?_ It felt too empty. She spun around, her movements slowed by the fog. "Hello?"

Her voice was swallowed by the haze.

How had she gotten here? She tried to recall. The conversation with Midori, the dart in her neck...

_Wait_ , she thought.  _Who is Midori?_  The name was familiar but not. It felt as if it had been plucked from her memory.

_Korra?_

Amon's voice.

She called his name and, when there was no response, began to yell it, scream it.

His voice came again: "Spirit?"

"Amon!" She ran toward him.

The fog thinned, revealing him on his hands and knees, sobbing. A mask lay on the ground before him, like his old one, but rotting and blackened around the edges.

"Amon." She landed on her knees in front of him, pulling him in to press his cheek against her chest.

"Korra?" He pulled away from her. "How did you get here?"

As she stared at him, her mind blanked. How had she gotten here? Had she always been here?

Blood began to drip from his mouth. Tarrlok. They had been battling Tarrlok, and then... No, that wasn't right. More had happened after that, she was sure of it – she just couldn't remember what. She hugged her knees to her chest, disoriented. It felt as if her memories were a long scarf, and something was tugging a loose thread at the end of them, gradually unwinding them.

More fog was wrapping along her limbs now, and when she looked down, her skin was turning translucent. How had this happened? They had been trapped in a cave, and then – no, that wasn't right, either.

"I'm fading," she whispered. "I can't remember. Amon, why can't I remember?"

"I don't understand what you are saying," he said, and then he buckled the mask into place and stood. Its colours grew vivid, shedding the black rot at its edges, and suddenly she remembered Avatar Aang Memorial Island. A ring of Equalists had captured her, and now he loomed over her.

"Tell me what you are trying to remember, Korra. I can help you." He held out a hand, and somehow she knew that he was about to grip her chin and threaten to destroy her. "Korra, it's me," he growled.

"I know who you are," she said, glaring at him. "You will not harm Republic City, Amon. I hate you."

More threads unravelled, and as she stared at him, his name drifted from her memory, just out of reach.

"Korra," he yelled, his voice fading, and he lunged at her.

White light engulfed her vision. There was no sense of gravity now; she was floating in nothingness.

"Avatar Korra," came a voice, "it is time for you to face your truth."

A figure stepped forward, and Korra saw that the white light came from its eyes. As the glow died and the violet haze returned, Korra recognized the figure.

It was herself.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "I don't understand what's happening. I don't understand what this is."

The Korra-who-was-not-her nodded. "And that is why you are here. You will know, in time." A pause. "This way."

A glowing white path cut through the fog before them.

 


	9. VIII: Hands

**VIII**

**Hands**

Amon dropped from the shadowed roof into the back alley, then marched around the corner of the building to enter the police station. The outside, as he had suspected, was quiet: most of the officers were patrolling or examining the crime scene, leaving the station itself relatively deserted.

He threw open the doors and marched to the front desk.

The police officer on duty didn't look up. "Good evening."

"Greetings." Amon closed the distance and thrust his hand over the counter.

The officer's eyes widened as a gloved hand gripped him by the throat and jerked him onto the counter. The name "Amon" was barely through his lips when he slumped over, unconscious thanks to a jab to the neck.

Amon relieved the man of his keys and pushed. The unconscious man rolled back across the counter and thudded to the floor.

"My apologies," said Amon, though he was too numb to feel any true regret.

He strode to the door that led to the prison cells. With the mask over his face, he felt his old confidence returning. It straightened his posture and broadened his shoulders, deepened his voice.

If he was honest with himself, he had missed being Amon.

The door swung open, and he stepped through. An officer stood on either side, standing guard.

Amon's arms darted out so quickly that his cloak snapped into the air. Before it had even fluttered back to his legs, the officers slumped to the ground. Calmly, he stepped over them and continued down the hall. The eyes of inmates, usually ignoring him, followed him as he passed. Even Sato, curled in the darkest corner, looked up. Amon met his gaze and gave him a nod, but the man only stared back.

Tarrlok, on the other hand, was lying on his back on his bed, his mouth hanging open and his arm draped over his face. Amon bent down to examine a lock, then flipped through the key rings. His difficult childhood had its advantages: it had taken him nearly two years to find the group of warriors who had trained him to chi-block, and in that time, he had learned a great deal about breaking and entering in order to survive.

He hadn't lost his touch. The first key he selected clicked over, and the door swung open. His footsteps didn't awaken Tarrlok, so he loomed over the ex-Councillor.

"Tarrlok," he growled.

The man's eyes flew open. A strangled yelp left his mouth and he scrambled back against the corner, chest heaving with panicked breaths.

Amon said nothing to comfort him. If this alliance was going to work, then the man needed to fear him.

After a few seconds, a placid expression washed over Tarrlok's features, and he sat forward. "Amon. Decided to return to your roots, I see. That mask is vaguely terrifying."

Amon's hand darted out and gripped the man by the throat, slamming him into the wall as he leaned in close. "You are going to help me infiltrate the Red Monsoons base. Any sign, no matter how slight, that you will betray me, and I will make sure you suffer. You may think you have nothing left to lose, but I assure you, you are very wrong."

Tarrlok winced, shivering. "I can see this is the beginning of a pleasant alliance."

Dropping him, Amon fished through his bag. "Take off your shirt so the prison uniform is less noticeable." He pulled the masks out of his bag and handed one to him. "Then put this on."

With a suspicious glance at it, Tarrlok accepted the mask. "Who's the other one for?"

Amon turned and stalked from the cell.

His former lieutenant was awake in the next cell over, sitting on the edge of the bed, but would not lift his head. Amon peered into the lock, studying the keyhole, then shuffled through the keys.

"What are you doing, Amon?" Lee's voice was gravelly, as if fatigued.

"I need your help, old friend." He slid a key into the lock. It caught, but did not turn. He pulled it out and searched for another.

"Don't bother." The voice was cold.

"You're upset."

"Damned right, I'm upset." Lee stood, his hands balled into fists and his voice escalating. "I can't believe I bought all your lies, all those years. You aren't normal, and never were. You aren't even a bender trying to be normal, like you claim. You're one of them, and you were all along!"

_He just needs time to get used to the idea, as always,_  thought Amon. The next key fit into the lock; he twisted it and pushed the door open. "It was my first time bending since I was a child, and it was purely an act of desperation. If I had not acted, both Midori and I would be dead." He pulled out the remaining mask and held it out. "They killed Korra, and they might have Midori. You were always my most trusted companion in battle, Lee. I want you by my side. Just like old times."

The ex-lieutenant's green eyes flashed. "Leave. I'm through wearing a mask for you."

Amon hesitated, stunned that the man's loyalty had dissipated so quickly. "Midori could die."

Lee's eyes dropped and he turned away. "I've rotted away for four years in this cell, for everything you had me do, swallowing all your lies. I suffered all your consequences, while you suffered none. And now, when I'm a few days away from legal freedom, you ask me to give that up for you, too? A mere day after you killed people with bending, spitting in the face of everything we fought for? Haven't I done enough for you? No, Amon, I'm through. I am truly sorry for Midori, but I think she would agree with my decision."

Shame and guilt choked Amon, and he shoved the mask back into his bag. His eyes narrowed. "Very well. I will move faster without you, anyway." He stepped through the door, slammed it shut and locked it.

He didn't look back as he strode to Tarrlok's cell. The ex-Councillor had removed his shirt as asked, and Amon was surprised to see deep, thick scars marring the man's body. He had always thought the man was soft, a pampered politician who had never suffered a day in his life.

"That sounded like it went well," said Tarrlok. "Looks like it's just you and me."

"Put on your mask."

Tarrlok fastened the mask in place, his scruffy beard puffing out underneath it in an unflattering mess. "How do you see in this thing?" he asked. "I have no peripheral vision."

"Can you fight?" asked Amon.

Tarrlok scratched at the wooly hair under his chin. "Not particularly well. Bending was about all I had."

That was going to be a problem. "Then you will keep your eyes on me, and your periphery is not needed. Stick close. Say nothing. When in doubt, hug the wall and stay out of my way."

Amon began to run to the door, keeping his body low and quiet. Behind him, Tarrlok's bare feet rang on the metal floor as if he were galloping. It was quickly becoming apparent that they weren't ready to infiltrate anything. With a sigh, Amon stopped.

"Silence would be more appropriate," he whispered.

"I know how to stealth. I'm just rusty after being locked away for four years," said Tarrlok, irritated, but the galloping ceased.

At the door to the lobby, the two officers were still down. If Amon had timed the chi-block correctly, it would keep them unconscious for another fifteen minutes.

"Are they dead?" asked Tarrlok, and even though he had the mask on, Amon could see that his eyes were wide.

"No. Watch your step." Amon hugged the wall and peered through the doorway. He cursed softly to himself. A group of four officers had gathered around the collapsed guard at the desk. Ducking back around the corner, he turned to Tarrlok. "Where are the other exits?"

"It's a jail. It isn't built with multiple escape routes out of the cell block." Tarrlok glared at him. "I thought you were supposed to be a brilliant strategist."

Amon held up a finger to silence him and peered around the corner again. He could easily take down the two with their backs to him. The other two, much less accessible, looked to be metalbenders, which was a problem – he would have no trouble dodging their projectile wires, but they could sink him into the metal ground with a flick of their wrists.

Unless he used Tarrlok as a decoy.

"I need you to act like a bender," he said.

"What?"

"Make them think you can still bend."

Tarrlok's eyes narrowed. "Are you crazy? You realize that if we get caught now, I'm going to be locked away in a high-security prison where you aren't even going to be able to talk to me, much less free me."

"A risk I'm willing to take." Amon ducked into the room and swooped toward the guards. As he had predicted, he was able to drop the two closest to him before they saw him coming. The sight of his mask also temporarily paralysed the other two, and he was able to slide over the counter and land in front of them before they remembered to use their weapons. He had forgotten that intimidation was such an effective weapon.

He flipped high over top of the first guard's projectile cables. The second caught his arm, interrupting the moment of his rotation. He landed on his feet, but the impact was harder than he expected, and his joints twinged. The wire wrapped around his arm; the raw scars there screamed at him as metal rubbed through the gloves. Amon grunted and gripped the wire, jerking it toward himself. The officer stumbled forward, falling to the ground. Two fingers stabbed the officer's neck, and he fell unconscious.

The other officer began to step backwards, hands in the air. Amon shook loose the unconscious officer's wire as he stalked toward him, staring him down.

"Please, Amon," stuttered the officer. "Don't take my bending."

A rush of control flooded Amon's veins. Caught up in the moment, he pushed his advance. The officer shrank against the wall and a tear leaked down his youthful face.

"Amon," barked Tarrlok from the other side of the counter. "He's surrendering. Let's go."

Blinking the red fog from his eyes, Amon stood down. He skidded back over the counter and stepped over the fallen officers, flexing his sore hand. The aching scars beneath the glove truly were insult to injury; he needed more healing. His eyes closed briefly as he thought of Korra, kneeling beside him, hands glowing, eyebrows pinched with tender concern...

It was only a moment's distraction, but enough: metal coiled around him, lashing his arms to his side, and tugged him backwards. He almost fell; at the last second, he redirected his momentum to do a backflip instead, then set his stance firmly on the ground. As he struggled to free his bound arms, his eyes snapped onto his attacker.

One of the fallen metalbender officers had revived far sooner than anticipated, though it was obvious from his heaving shoulders that he didn't have full control of his body yet. Amon eyed him.

"Go sound the alarm," said his captor to the frightened officer on the other side of the counter.

"I wouldn't do that," said Tarrlok, stepping forward. He held up his arms. "I am a bloodbender, and I will make you my puppet."

Amon heard the frightened officer freeze in his tracks. Adding to the intimidation that Tarrlok was building, he affected his best growl: "And once he does that, officers, prepare to be cleansed of your impurities."

"It's a trick," said the officer who held Amon, and he began to circle, approaching Tarrlok. "This one is wearing half of a prison uniform. Only prisoner here who could ever bend was Councilman Tarrlok, and the Avatar took his bending away." He walked right up to Tarrlok and stared up at him. The confidence drained from the ex-Councillor's stance; he took a step back.

The main door opened from the street, so quietly that Amon would not have noticed had it not been directly in his line of sight. Asami crept into the room, wearing an Equalist glove.

Behind the mask, Amon raised a brow. This was an interesting turn of events. He began to sidestep, directing the officer's back to the woman.

"Stop moving!" The officer thrust his hands into the air, and the metal floor suddenly wrapped around Amon's feet to the ankles, holding him fast.

The movement had opened the officer's back to Asami.

She lunged. Blue lightning engulfed the officer. His eyes rolled into his head and he dropped. As he fell unconscious, the metal around Amon's body slackened, and he shook himself free as best as he could with his feet still pinned to the floor.

Tossing her wavy black hair and standing with a wide stance and squared shoulders, Asami was the perfect image of a warrior queen. Her green eyes blazed at the frightened officer behind the counter.

"Officer Bao, release his feet."

The officer trembled. "Miss Sato, I don't understand."

At the woman's name, Tarrlok took a step away from her, shocked. He glanced at Amon, questions in his eyes. Amon brushed the last of the cables from his body.

"I'm sorry we scared you," she said. "This is official Avatar business. We didn't have time to go through the proper channels, but we'll get it all cleaned up afterwards, I promise." She put one hand on her hip and used the other to gesture at Amon as if to say,  _well?_

Bao's swallow was audible even from halfway across the room. He thrust out his hands, and the metal around Amon's feet fell away.

Adjusting his stance to properly regain his balance, Amon said, "Do I have to knock you out, Officer, or are you going to be good?"

Bao shook his head so violently that his helmet rattled. "No. I'll be good. I promise."

"Smart lad." Amon approached Asami. "Miss Sato, you should not get involved in this."

"Give me the keys," she said.

He raised a brow at the commanding tone. "Walk away."

Her eyes narrowed and she gripped Tarrlok's arm before he could react, pressing the palm of her glove against his temple.

"What-" began Tarrlok.

"Give me the keys, or I'll electrocute your friend," snapped Asami.

Amon clasped his hands behind his back. "That's of no concern to me."

"Excuse me," said Tarrlok, cross.

Asami did not waver. "Give me the keys."

"You're getting in over your head."

Her brows dropped. "I'm already in way over my head, so you might as well not get in my way."

_Intriguing._  Amon held out the keys and the remaining black mask. "You may wish to wear that, for anonymity. Be quick."

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Tarrlok.

Amon ignored him and leaned close to the woman, his voice too soft for the frightened officer to overhear. "You will find a ladder at the end of the block that leads to the roof of a furniture store. We will rendezvous there."

When she nodded, he turned and strode for the exit.

"I always knew you were mad, but have you lost it entirely?" asked Tarrlok, falling into step behind him. "Surely you aren't thinking of bringing her along?"

"No. But she may have resources we can leverage." Without his lieutenant along, they needed every edge they could get. At the door, he ascertained that the coast was clear, then stepped onto the street.

"Now we just blend in?" asked Tarrlok, walking beside him. "With our black masks, and me topless in the dead of night?"

"Blending in is easier if you're not yelling about it." Amon rounded the corner at the end of the block. The metal ladder was rusted, and he wondered if it would stay bolted to the wall. One advantage to losing Korra was that he was a lot braver – or, he reflected, reckless. He sped up the ladder and onto the rooftop. Below him, Tarrlok tentatively tested his weight on it, then began to edge up one rung at a time.

There was a small wooden storage shed in the centre of the roof. The building had once been owned by an Equalist landlord, and the shed had been an emergency meeting place. Amon ducked through the doorway and turned on the light, which was dim enough that no light would shine through to the outside. He looked around, waiting for Tarrlok to join him.

Several of his old propaganda posters were on the wall, his old mask surprisingly intimidating now that he knew about his benefactor spirit's ulterior motives. Three dusty stools stood around a table. A keg of water and a cask of cheap wine were still stacked in the corner. His stomach, still raw from the night before, heaved at the thought of wine; he helped himself to the water.

Tarrlok stepped inside and unbuckled his mask. He stood in front of one of the propaganda posters with his hands on his hips. "Tastefully decorated," he said drily.

"I always thought so." Amon gestured to the cask, focusing hard to hide his hatred for the man. "Can I offer you a glass of the finest vinegar that the Equalists had to offer?"

Tarrlok squinted at him, unimpressed, and brushed the dust off a stool before sitting down. "What I really want is a shower, a mirror and a razor so I can get rid of this mess." He scratched at his bushy beard. "I must look like a swampbender."

Amon wasn't about to argue that point. "Miss Sato recently inherited several of her father's old Equalist safe houses – she may be able to direct us to one. You will be able to groom yourself there." He sat on a stool as well and leaned across the table, hands clasped. "Once that has been arranged, you will tell me all you know about the Red Monsoons and their hideout."

A shudder rippled noticeably through Tarrlok and he shrank back. "Would you mind taking off your mask when you're talking to me? It's even more unnerving than your old one." As an afterthought he added, almost to himself, "I hope that's paint and not blood."

When the masked gaze did not drop, the ex-Councillor sighed. "Not a people person, are you, Amon?"

"I think you will find that I become much more amicable when you give me a reason to trust you." Sitting tall in his chair for dramatic effect, Amon added, "Tell me how you are still connected to the police and the Red Monsoons."

"Is this really the place?"

"As good a place as any. We have a minute while we wait for Miss Sato."

Tarrlok frowned. "Maybe I will have a glass of that wine."

"Be my guest."

The ex-Councillor selected a glass from a box beside the cask and blew into it. A cloud of dust billowed around him, and his nose wrinkled. "Well, I suppose that a shirtless, hairy, grimy escaped prisoner shouldn't fuss about a little dust on his glassware." Pouring a hefty glass, he added, "This is a new low."

"Lower than bloodbending the Avatar?" It was difficult for Amon to hide the venom in his voice. A vision of Korra contorted and screaming floated in his mind. He hadn't been there when Tarrlok had kidnapped Korra – he hadn't even been on speaking terms with her yet, at that point – but she had described the sensations. The overpowering fear she had felt.

Tarrlok glared. "Let's get one thing straight about that situation: she was the aggressor. She confronted me in my office, and I acted out of self-defense. Yes, I took it too far, and I accept that, but your girlfriend is no angel herself. She got so caught up in her power that she was going to kill me if I hadn't saved myself."

Though Amon found the story difficult to swallow – Korra had a temper, for certain, but he didn't think her capable of murdering anyone in rage – he allowed the man to continue.

"And then both of you teamed up against me. Against the law, against justice." Tarrlok took a long swig, then grimaced as he swallowed it. "Charging at me, ready to start an all-out war – was I supposed to hold back? Let myself die? And even though she was the traitor, I was the one who was robbed of his bending and sent to prison to rot."

Amon clasped his hands in front of the mouth of his mask, settling onto his elbows. "If you cannot admit to wronging this city, Ex-Councillor, then this professional arrangement is not going to work."

"Of course I wronged the city. I wrongly imprisoned thousands and imposed unreasonably strict measures – don't think I don't know that. Sitting in a cell for four years gives a man time to reflect and regret." After another swallow of wine, Tarrlok added, "I got carried away with my power. Just like you did. Just like she did. We are all alike that way: the power is in each of us to tear this city apart." He stared into his glass.

Sizing him up, Amon watched for a moment before he said: "You seek redemption?"

"Redemption, yes. And revenge. The man who fathered me is the man who birthed the Red Monsoons, taught some of its members to bloodbend." A grimace stretched across his broad mouth. "When I first came to Republic City, I...infiltrated the gang on behalf of the Council. I still have some contacts within the gang itself, although for the most part, the despise me. My falling out with them was rather..." He trailed off, but Amon could guess the rest. There had been the occasional informant detected among the Equalist movement, and while Amon himself had never raised a hand against his own people, there were others in his movement who had not been as generous. Suddenly, the scars that marred the ex-Councillor's body were not so mysterious.

"Do you know where prisoners would be kept?" he asked.

Tarrlok nodded. "There are a few potential locations suitable for holding the Avatar. If you get me access to a city map, I can walk you through it."

Amon's heart begin to pound. His voice strained, he said, "Suitable for holding her? You think she's still alive."

"You think she's dead?" Tarrlok shook his head. "I don't see how it's in their interest to kill her: that would start a war. More likely, they have taken her to break or silence her, or as ransom to control the Council." He polished off his glass, then added, "Or as a bargaining chip. For you."

_Am I really that valuable to them?_ Closing his eyes, Amon leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. While he hoped more than anything that the ex-Councillor was correct, it seemed too far-fetched to hope for. "What could they possibly use to subdue and restrain a fully-realized Avatar?"

Tarrlok shrugged, eyes fixed on the inside of his glass. "I don't know."

"Miss Sato saw her die.

"Then perhaps I am wrong."

There was a long silence as Amon wrestled with the kindling hope. He took several deep breaths, focusing calmness into a small, warm ball in his stomach. Once his heart had stopped racing, he spoke. "The mask was my gift: it will help protect you from recognition by the Red Monsoons, though you may wish to further disguise your appearance before we begin the infiltration."

White erupted around Tarrlok's irises. "What? You're bringing me with you?"

Amon's head tilted. "You thought otherwise?"

"I thought I was going to tell you everything I knew, then go free!"

"I can't very well take your information at face value without ensuring that it won't get me killed, can I?"

Tarrlok's brows knit together. "Why not?"

"I have a difficult time trusting a man who once killed me."

"Ah. Right." After a pause: "I'll only slow you down. Without bending, my combat skills are weak."

"That's where I can help," said Asami's voice from the doorway. Amon turned to see her step through the door and shut it behind her. She removed her mask, then ran her fingers through her hair. "I have access to weapons and vehicles." Between the sad note in her voice and the amount of time it had taken her to return, Amon guessed that she had gone to free her father, and it had not gone as she had expected. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman.

Rather than show it, however, he stood. "We require the use of a safe house as well."

"I know where we can find one." She brushed off a stool and sat down, then set her mask on the table. Her green eyes were unflinching as they locked on Amon. "You're infiltrating the Red Monsoons base, aren't you? I want to come with you."

He shook his head. "No."

"I should rephrase that: I am coming with you."

"Consider what you have to lose." He watched, listing the items in his mind as he waited for her response. Her company's reputation was already on tenuous ground after Sato's exposure as an Equalist; it had nearly gone bankrupt several times. Her husband-to-be was an up-and-coming police officer who was already making a splash with the local media. Aside from that, she was incredibly valuable, and would be a potential hostage target should things go wrong at the Red Monsoons base.

"I already have," she said. "My reasons outweigh anything I have to lose. Besides, I interfered with police officers at your apartment and attacked officers at the police station, and was recognized doing both. I'm in so deep that I might as well keep going." There was a frown on her face, and he could tell she was guarding her true reasons. "I can get you weapons, transport and a safe base of operations. Furthermore, I am a trained combatant. You can't take them all on yourself, and the former Councillor won't be able to bluff his way through many more situations."

"She has a point," added said former Councillor. Amon wondered if Tarrlok was vouching for her because he was hoping for one more squishy body between him and the line of fire.

"You said you attacked officers at my apartment?"

She nodded. "I followed you from Air Temple Island."

At that, he raised a brow. "You were in the boat that was tailing me."

"I figured you might need a moment of privacy, so I pulled the guards off of your room. They were happy to take a statement about what happened at Councillor Midori's house, even though it was almost word-for-word the account they already had." Her ruby lips pulled into a smirk.

Cunning. Amon felt himself warm to the woman. "I appreciate it." With a twinge of humiliation, he wondered if she had heard his breakdown in his room.

"Should we go to the safe house first, or go for weapons?" she asked.

"We'll be much less conspicuous once I no longer look like a street urchin," said Tarrlok. "And we're going to need a plan before we decide which weapons to take."

Sound reasoning. Amon supposed a man needed at least some basic planning skills in order to rise to the top of the Council and seize control of the police force, but he had always written off Tarrlok as something of a vainglorious idiot.

"Come on," said Asami, standing. "I'm parked downstairs."

There was no movement outside the police station. Amon dropped from the ladder and stared at the entrance, wary. "They should have woken up by now."

"I may have extended their unconsciousness a bit." Asami held up her glove, and he couldn't help grinning behind his mask. Apparently resourcefulness ran in the family. He was beginning to think he would be glad to have her along.

The three ran into the alleyway to find a Satomobile; Asami jumped in and started the engine. "Get in."

.*.*.*.

They crossed the city, sticking mostly to alleys and back roads, eventually coming to a wealthy neighbourhood on a hill overlooking the bay. Asami pulled the car into a driveway behind a two-story house with large windows and a broad balcony.

"Doesn't look like much of a safe house," said Amon as he shut the vehicle's door behind him.

"Reinforced glass?" guessed Tarrlok.

Asami nodded. "And a built-in alarm system. We aren't planning on spending a long time here anyway, right?" She led them through a groomed hedge to a small patio with sliding glass doors, then pulled out a set of keys. "I took possession of this house last month, and I haven't cleaned out any of the old Equalist supplies yet."

As they stepped into the house, Amon's eyes widened. The wooden floors were polished, with ornate furniture so fancy that it made Midori's home look like a shack. Elegant rugs lined the floors, and an enormous fireplace was in the centre room.

Asami closed the door behind them and locked it. "There's a shower downstairs and two upstairs, so feel free to get cleaned up if you need to."

That sounded like a good idea to Amon; his skin still reeked of old alcohol. While it was tempting to head straight to the base as soon as possible, he recognized that it was getting late, and they needed time to devise a strategy. He hoped Midori would be okay for a little while longer. The thought of all the things they might do to her made his stomach lurch.

The bathroom was as ornate as the rest of the house, with a tile floor and a shower with glass walls. He locked the door behind him and pulled off his mask, feeling oddly naked without it. After he stripped off his clothes, he studied the scars on his hands and arms; they were red and angry, and he couldn't close his hands all the way. If they got much worse, he wouldn't be able to chi-block anything by morning.

He tried not to follow the thread of thought to Korra, but thoughts of her flooded his mind anyway as he turned on the shower and water began to flow down his skin. His own home was fitted with a tub, so the last time he had been in a shower was during a romantic getaway with Korra, one week after he had first returned to Republic City. He closed his eyes against the memory, but it demanded his full attention.

.*.*.*.

The shower, like this one, had had glass walls; they had been fogged with steam, so he hadn't seen Korra slip into the bathroom. One moment, he was absently scrubbing his scalp with hot water, and the next, she had plastered herself against the door, her face smeared in a grotesque expression by the glass.

He yelped, his fist driving at the glass on instinct; had she not thrown open the door, he would have smashed it. Then he stood there, sopping wet and breathing hard, as she laughed until she cried.

"Very mature, Korra," he muttered, a little embarrassed that the former leader of the Equalists – the man who had struck fear into all benders – had been spooked by a prank.

"I know, that was terrible." She pulled her shirt over her head. "I was planning to sneak in and join you, but you've been so serious since you got back to-" She paused, considering. "Well, since ever. I thought you could use a little levity, but I guess it didn't really work." Her breasts fell free from the wrapping, bouncing a bit before settling into place, and Amon's gaze fixed on them.

"I'm sorry if I've seemed solemn," he said. "There is a lot to readjust to. I left behind several things when I returned, and they're weighing on my mind."

"A woman?" Korra kicked off her boots, scattering them to alternate corners of the bathroom, narrowly missing the candles that lit the dim room. She yanked down her pants and flicked them aside with her toe.

"Well, the family I was living with. The self-defense school I ran." He hesitated, not sure how much it was polite to tell her. "And, yes, a woman."

She stepped into the shower with him, closing the door behind her. Studying him, she said, "Do you miss her?"

His eyes searched hers for any hint of jealousy, but she only smiled. "It's okay, Amon. We didn't think we'd ever see each other again. I didn't exactly stay chaste while you were away – I dated around a bit, and I was with Bolin for awhile."

"Bolin? The earthbender boy?" If anything, he had expected her to chase after the firebender brother.

"You didn't answer my question." She stared so intently at him that he looked away. "Do you miss her?"

He didn't, which made him feel even worse. How could he have grown so cold about a woman he had once loved? "I regret the way it ended. I broke her heart. She was always second to you, and she knew it."

Korra's hand cupped his chin, forcing him to look at her. A trail of water streamed down his nose, and she bent it away as if she were tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Do you regret coming back?" she asked.

"No." He bent down to press a kiss to her damp forehead. "Never."

"Good." A playful brow shot up. "Because I want to help you forget everything you left behind." There was a growl to her voice, a threat that intrigued him.

"Do you, now?"

She slowly nodded, pressing a palm to his bare chest as she stepped closer, the shower's spray streaming between them. "Amon, this weekend I am going to make you forget everything except you and me and the way we make each other feel."

A shiver ran through him. "Is that so?"

Her lids heavy, Korra's palm began to slide down his water-slicked abdomen, moving with agonizing slowness toward its target. He groaned and found her mouth with his, and their tongues twisted together.

Then her hand tightened around him, and her skin was so soft and her grip so firm that a tingling warmth spread through his body. He involuntarily sagged against her for support as her rocking palm began to sap away his ability to stand. His tongue lost its focus and his mouth fell away from hers, so she began to kiss his collarbone instead. He panted her name, barely able to form the word, and she gave a pleased hum in response.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" she murmured into his skin. He whispered her name again, unable to find any other words – no other words mattered now. Just Korra. Always Korra.

The water that trickled down his body began to spread, gained intent. It caressing him, like dozens of small, warm hands, massaging every inch of his skin. He had never felt this relaxed; the sensations were so overpowering that they were pulling him away on an undercurrent, separating him from his body...

The realization that she was bending the water around him slammed into him, jolting him from his pleasure.

He jerked away from her. The whirls of water dropped from his skin and Korra looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Amon? What's wrong?"

"You were waterbending," he said, his voice flat.

She frowned. "Is that – is that a problem?"

"I'm not comfortable with bending in this context," he said, unable to think clearly enough to phrase it in a friendlier manner.

"After three full years?" She shook her head. "I'm the Avatar, Amon. Bending is kind of a big part of who I am. It's like a reflex. It's how I express myself." After a pause, she added, "Didn't it feel good?"

"That's irrelevant."

"No, it is relevant. If we're going to be together, I need to know what your boundaries are." He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it put him on the defensive.

"I'm not comfortable with bending," he said tersely. "This should not be a surprise."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought you went away to separate your own thoughts from the spirit's lies!"

And so began their first real fight, one that had lasted late into the night.

.*.*.*.

As Amon compared the memory to their fight just the night before, he realized that the same issues had been festering between them ever since. Instead of finding a resolution for it, they had buried it, hoping their differences would go away with time.

He leaned against the shower wall, his head pressed to his forearm as he considered the memory. Why had he stopped her? She had only been trying to make him feel good – and she had been succeeding – so what right did he have to throw that back in her face? Surely his brain wasn't so confused that it would equate an innocent water massage with the violent benders he had fought against during his Equalist days. The hurt look in her beautiful blue eyes was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Now she was gone, and he would never have the opportunity to apologize.

The shower's water streamed down his skin, inexorably linked to the memory of Korra manipulating the sensations across every inch of his body. Spirits, he would give anything to get that moment back and let it play out differently. His eyes closed and he retraced the movements of her palm, desperate to reclaim the sensations she had been creating for him. To enjoy them as he should have enjoyed them at the time, and give them their proper conclusion. He wrapped his mind in recollection, revelling in every sensation.

For a few brief moments, she was beside him. Watching him, holding him as he showed her that he appreciated all she had done for him, that he would never again shrug off her good intentions. That he loved the way she made him feel, bending and all. He could almost feel her hands on his body as his muscles seized.

But when he finished and reality returned to him, he felt even emptier and more ashamed than before.

He slumped against the wall. "I'm sorry, Korra," he whispered, the words choking in his mouth.

.*.*.*.

Asami and Tarrlok were waiting for him at the dining room table when he arrived downstairs a short while later. Three bowls of noodles had been set at the table, and Amon's stomach growled as he realized how hungry he was. In a foul mood, he glanced at his forced dinner companions with irritation.

Tarrlok was wearing a dull green tunic over brown pants, and his long brown hair was in a single braid down his back. His beard was gone, revealing a face that was more sunken and lined with wrinkles than Amon remembered. Prison life had been unkind to him.

"Are you all right, Zoran? You look awful," said Asami as he pulled out a chair and slid into place. The concern in her voice made him wish he had worn his mask downstairs.

"Just call him Amon," said Tarrlok. "We all know."

"I want to get moving as quickly as possible." Amon lifted the noodles to his lips. The broth was salty and flavourful, and his stomach growled, begging him to down the whole bowl at once.

"I was thinking we should get a good night's sleep first," said Asami hesitantly. "Then strategize and retrieve weapons tomorrow, leaving under the cover of nightfall."

Even though he had been thinking the same thing, Amon's eyes locked onto her. "Midori could be dead by then."

Her eyes fluttered away. "You're obviously exhausted, and it's getting late enough that the sun will rise before we're prepared. We're going to have a much harder time sneaking around during the day."

His own temper surprised him: he slammed his fist into the table so hard that the bowls jumped. "Unacceptable. We can't afford to wait an extra twenty-four hours."

Tarrlok cleared his throat. "Look at yourself in the mirror, Amon. Your eye sockets are practically purple. You're the best fighter out of the three of us – we need you to be rested."

Closing his eyes, Amon shook his head. "I won't be able to sleep, anyway."

"Put aside your heartbreak for a second and think rationally. You know we're right." There was a surprising gentleness to the ex-Councillor's voice, and it angered Amon to be the less rational of the two. Of course he knew he needed rest - he just couldn't shake the feeling that he needed closure immediately. With a growl, he stood and grabbed his bowl, then stormed upstairs to an empty bedroom.

Through the air vent in the floor, he could hear his new companions speaking downstairs:

"Is he going to be in the right frame of mind for this?" asked Tarrlok.

"Just give him a night to work through this. He lost a lot today." There was a pause. "So did I."

"It's not too late for you to turn back, Miss Sato. You don't have to sacrifice your own life to atone for your father's sins. Believe me: I know how poorly that can end."

"If he won't atone for them, then who will? He threw this city out of balance in a way that Amon could never have achieved without his aid. Maybe fighting back against a gang will put some balance back in this city." Another pause. "Besides, his sins aren't the only ones that weight on my conscience. I was right there when they attacked, and I couldn't stop them. Korra was my dearest friend, and even more than that, the Avatar. I failed her. I'm not going to stop until I've brought her home and laid her to rest."

Amon dropped his bag onto the vent to block out the rest of the conversation. He jabbed at the noodles with the chopsticks, but his appetite was gone.

He curled up on the bed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to snuff out his anger.


	10. IX: Backsliding

**IX**

**Backsliding**

_"Open your eyes, little one."_

Amon groaned and wrestled with his eyelids, pinned shut with fatigue. When they at last opened, a swirl of black and violet fog filled his vision. He squinted, trying to bring his surroundings into focus.

_"Welcome back to the world between the worlds,"_  said the voice, its owner invisible.

"Spirit," he growled. "Are you haunting my dreams now? Are the years you took from me not enough?"

_"Make no mistake, little one: I never intended you any harm. All I sought was balance, on behalf of the ancient spirits I represented."_

Amon gritted his teeth, no patience for spirit vagueness. "Leave me be. This is the one reprieve I get from the pain I am feeling in the waking world. I am exhausted, and I only wish to sleep."

_"Ah, but I believe there is someone here you seek."_

A path appeared in the fog. Far in the distance, he could see two glowing pillars: one blue-white, one red. He stared at the white pillar. While he had only once seen Korra in the Avatar State, four years prior, the white glow of her eyes was burnt into his mind.

"Korra. That's Korra, isn't it? Spirit, what have you done to her?"

_"This was not my doing, little one."_

Amon began to run to her, but the fog slid beneath his feet like an oil slick, and he couldn't cover any ground. Whirling, he sought the black wispy form that would match the ethereal voice. "Spirit, I saw her here before, in this place. Where is this? Is she dead?"

The spirit was no longer by his side.

"Is she dead?" he yelled, spinning to address anything within earshot. His voice was muted by the haze.

This time, it was Korra's voice who answered: "I can't remember. Why can't I remember?"

Then she was falling through the air before him. He yelled her name and lunged for her hand, barely catching it as the haze began to swallow her up beneath his feet. Her eyes, too wide and too dilated, stared through him as her fingers began to slip through his.

"Korra," he pleaded, trying desperately to cling to her. "Korra, hold on." The white haze was engulfing her skin again. When the haze reached her hand, he felt the contact of skin to skin dissipate, and she fell away from his fingers like sand, one grain at a time.

For one brief moment, her panicked eyes locked with his.

The fog swallowed her whole, and he was alone.

In the distance, the white and red pillars stood like beacons. Taunting him.

"What does this mean?" he yelled. "No more riddles, spirits. Tell me what this means. Tell me what is happening to Korra!"

.*.*.*.

Amon thrashed and rolled off the bed, landing with a thump that jarred his skull. He groaned and lay back against the cold wooden floor, tangled in blankets. The ceiling was scrolling past him so quickly that he pressed his hands into the floor to steady himself.

It would have been easiest to dismiss it as a nightmare, but the vividness of the dream and the appearance of the ambassador spirit had felt too real to be imagined. It was as if Korra were reaching out to him from the Spirit World – or, as the spirit had hinted, somewhere between the two worlds.

When his breaths had at last slowed and the world stopped trying to throw him off of it, he disentangled himself from the blankets and stood. He lifted his bag from the vent and began to dig for the herbal gift from Feng.  _Spirit,_  the label had said. Clearly his own connection to the spirit world wasn't enough to get him answers. The dreams were only giving him fragments; maybe Feng's gifts would reveal the larger picture.

Before he had found it, a whimper and a sob reached his ears. At first, he thought the sounds were lingering remnants of the dream, but then he heard another whimper and realized it was coming from the air vent. He strained his ears, but there was only silence.

The sound was too high-pitched to be Tarrlok. Either Asami, or an intruder, then.

Slowly setting his bag aside, he reached for his mask and buckled it on, then pulled his hood into place. He slid the paper door open and crept from his room. Sticking close to the outside of each stair, where it was least likely to creak, he quietly padded to the lower level. There was another whimper, and he lowered himself into stance as he crept forward, ready to strike if there was danger.

As he stepped into the living room, his stance relaxed. Asami knelt before a fading fire, tears streaming down her cheeks. A needle and thread were in her hand, and he saw several angry red gashes at odd angles on her arm. A pair of scissors and a bloodied rag lay by her side.

"I didn't realize you were injured, Miss Sato," he said, and she jumped.

"Oh. I didn't... I hope I didn't wake you." Her cheeks flushed and she sniffled. "It's just a few cuts left over from the attack. I'm stitching them." Almost to herself, she added, "Or trying to, anyway."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

She sniffled again. "I thought it would be easier than this," she admitted.

"I can aid you. One moment." He returned to his room to fetch one of the bottles of liquor that he had pilfered from Midori's home, still carefully tucked away in his bag. He brought it down to Asami and sat cross-legged beside her.

"You have to disinfect the wound first. This might sting." He held her arm over the stone hearth and poured the alcohol freely over the wounds. She bit her lip and winced, trying to jerk her arm away from his grip.

"These are deep," he said, tilting her arm to examine the cuts.

"I punched through glass to get help for Korra and Midori." Asami's chin dropped. "And I didn't even succeed."

"You succeeded: you found me. I will not rest until this is set right." He gently squeezed the skin, eliciting a wince from Asami, and watched the stitches pucker. She had been too timid with the needle. "These are too loose and uneven. I'll need to remove them and start again, and I'm afraid it will hurt quite a bit."

"Then please pass me the liquor," she said, reaching for it with her good hand. She held it to her lips and took a long swig. When she offered it to him, he shook his head.

"Brace yourself," he cautioned.

She nodded. "I'm ready. Go for it."

He eased the scissors beneath the stitches and delicately snipped and tugged out the crooked threads. Sweat sprouted on Asami's face, but she barely even shook; when it was over, she let out a loud puff of air and grabbed the bottle for another swallow.

"This will hurt as well," he said, holding her arm to the light and delicately pulling the wounds open to look for glass fragments. Luckily, they looked clean. Though he saw a tear trail down her cheek, she didn't so much as squeak.

"You're tougher than I gave you credit for," said Amon as he held the needle over the fire to sterilize it, then threaded it. "I have seen grown men weep with wounds far less deep. You are your father's daughter."

Her painted eyelids fluttered as she looked away, her voice small: "He doesn't think so. He wouldn't even acknowledge me at the prison. I opened the door and called to him, and he acted like I wasn't even there."

"Your father was always conflicted about his role within the Equalists, especially once you chose to side with the Avatar." Amon gripped her elbow, rotating her forearm to get a better angle on the deepest gash. "I know his actions might have been confusing or even abhorrent to you, but he never stopped loving you. Revolution is no place for a man with a family, and I don't think he realized how much he would be sacrificing for his ideals." He paused. "This one is quite deep, so it's going to sting."

"Stop warning me and just do it." She closed her eyes and turned away, her forearm tensing as he eased the needle into the raw flesh. Shortly after he began, however, her arm relaxed in his grip and her breaths began to flow again.

"The doctor wasn't sure if Korra was pregnant or not," she said quietly.

Amon paused mid-stitch. "I don't want to think about it." The thought of losing Korra alone was painful enough. To think that there might have been budding potential inside her as well was more than he could bear.

And just like that, visions of what would never be floated into his mind: Korra with a swollen belly, guiding his hand over it so he could feel their child kicking. Her bravery during the delivery, and exhausted smile as she held their child for the first time. The pride he would feel as he wrapped his arms around infant and mother, his family.

His family. Oh spirits, his very own family...

A blur filled his vision and he violently blinked it away. He tied up the first gash on Asami's arm, then began to work on the next one.

"When I left the room," said Asami, "Midori and Korra were talking about how much you loved her."

"I can't bear to think about them." As her face twisted into a wince, he realized he was handling her too roughly. Easing his grip, he said, "I would appreciate it if you would change the subject."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I just wanted you to know that-"

"Stop." He focused intently on laying the stitches, trying to keep his rising anger from his movements. "If I stop to consider it, I'll go mad. Every bit of this situation is my fault. The Red Monsoons took them as a direct result of my actions against them over the past few days. As a result of me urging Councillor Midori to take a stand, and before that, the large strike I carried out against the gang four years ago. I'm directly responsible for the fact that Korra might have been carrying my child, or that she even fell in love with me in the first place – she gave me the option to end our affair once, when it was barely beginning, and I couldn't. Then even when she was almost free, when we were apart for years and the healing had begun, I selfishly came back into her life and dragged her into all of this." His vision was blurring and he cleared his tightening throat.

"You can't blame yourself for any of that, Amon."

"Yes, I can," he said, emphasizing each word. "Every single action I've carried out in my life has been with an end goal in mind, and I've focused on that end goal so intently that I've lost sight of everything around me. There is not one person I've ever cared for who has come out unscathed: my family, Korra, Midori, my former lieutenant. Your father."

"They made their own choices – ow!"

Amon paused his stitching. "This one has started scabbing over. I'm afraid it's going to be quite painful."

"Keep going. I can take it." She reached for the bottle again. "You can't blame yourself for choices that other people made. Even if you were the catalyst, every single one of those people chose to follow you. They, too, had their eyes on your end goals." There was a sharp hiss of breath through her teeth as he tied the thread, and then she added, "Besides, Korra spoke as if there were a spiritual connection between you, so maybe the two of you were drawn together by forces beyond your control – or hers."

"That's naively romantic." He started working on the last gash, a small one on the knuckle of her thumb. "There is a spiritual connection, yes. Or there was. But it was one that stripped her of powers, to my advantage. To insinuate that we were drawn together by fate is true, to some extent, but let's not pretend that it was because of mutual benefit. We were drawn together in a way that made her suffer. The same as the others. Everything,  _everything_  I have achieved or gained in my life has been at the expense of others." He paused. "And besides, nothing changes the fact that if she had never met me, she wouldn't be..." He couldn't say the word.

Asami was silent. He could tell she was looking for words of comfort, but couldn't find any.  _Exactly_ , he thought.

The last gash closed easily. He tied it off, then doused the wounds with alcohol one last time for good measure. "Try flexing your hand."

She obeyed, and he examined the wounds to make sure there was no puckering.

"You've done this before," she observed. "Thank you. I have something that might help you, as well." She fished through the pocket of her jacket and retrieved a small vial. "This lotion should soothe your burns. I found it in the bathroom cupboard"

"I appreciate it." His hands were smarting after the dextrous work required to wield the needle and thread. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed the vial. It smelled of honey and mint. As he smoothed it over the scars, coolness flooded his skin. The sensation reminded him of the soft, soothing glow of healing hands, and tears pricked at his eyes. He wondered how long it was going to be before the urge to weep left him – it was getting extremely inconvenient. Maybe talking through it would help; Asami seemed happy to listen.

"She saved my life," he said. "Korra. Back when we were trapped in the cave together, she kept me alive when I should have died. And then she brought me back to life after Tarrlok killed me."

"It's my understanding that you saved her life once or twice as well."

He brought a hand to his face and traced the nose of his mask, remembering the one he had shattered for her. "Yes."

"Is that what you meant by spiritually connected?"

"It is a bit more literal than that. Or was. Our connection was severed when my old mask shattered, although..." He set the lotion aside and leaned forward, letting his head droop on his shoulders. "I have seen her twice in dreams since the attack. I think she may be trying to tell me something."

He heard Asami's breath catch. "What do you mean?"

"I see her in an unfamiliar world, a world of fog and haze. She seems lost. Confused. She speaks of being unable to remember."

The woman's crimson mouth flattened, her expression grave. "My grandmother used to tell me ancient legends from the earth kingdom, of ghosts trapped between the material world and the spirit world because their bodies were not at peace. They would travel between the two worlds, never belonging to one or the other, until their bodies were properly laid to rest."

The idea of Korra as a restless spirit made Amon's chest ache. "Then we must put her to rest." He was glad that the mask covered his trembling mouth. "But revenge is an ugly business, Miss Sato. Once we have Korra and Midori, I want you to take them away immediately and save yourself. Tarrlok and I have both dirtied our hands before, but your hands are clean. Do not bloody them."

She leaned forward, her head tilted, as if trying to read his mind. "What are you planning, Amon?"

He stared into the dancing flames of the fireplace until they bled into one another. They would all fall. Every single Red Monsoons member he came across. Since he could no longer take away their bending, he would resort to a more savage tactic. There was a chi point on the back of the neck, one strong enough to freeze a master bender with just a slight grip – fittingly called the amon chi point. The warriors who had trained him in chi-blocking had taught him about the point only so that he could avoid it, but, perhaps due to his name, he had always been fascinated by it, studying every piece of literature about it that he could. One precise stab in its centre, and the victim's heart and lungs would seize, their own body betraying them. It was an excruciating death filled with suffering.

It was too good for the people who had killed Korra, but it was the most brutal revenge he had the power to exact.

"Amon." Asami gripped his shoulder, but he didn't turn away from the fire. "You're planning something awful, aren't you?"

When he didn't respond, he heard her sigh. "One of the things that Korra said she loved about you was that even when you and she were enemies, you still had a code of honour. Please remember that. Out of respect for her, don't let your anger carry you to a dark place."

"And one of the things I loved about Korra was her innocence about the ways of the world." Amon tugged Asami's hand away from his shoulder. "But you and she should both know: sometimes balance requires the rotten branches to be pruned from a tree so that the strong ones can see the sun."

She shook her head. "I don't think you really believe that. I think you're letting your pain control you."

His old walls were up, and they protected him from her attempt to guilt him. "I am the yin to the Avatar's yang: where she brought out the good in the world, I extinguish the evil." He stood, his face stony behind the mask. "Goodnight, Miss Sato."

.*.*.*.

Korra did not reach out to him again that night.

When Amon awoke, a perfect square of orange blazed on the wall, the sunrise shining through the window. He sat up. His body was still stiff from his injuries. Experimentally, he squeezed his hands and found that his burns, at least, were healing. The salve that Asami had provided seemed to be helping. He slathered on a fresh coat, trying not to let the cool sensation remind him of Korra.

Her face floated through his mind anyway, and for a few minutes, he sat at the edge of the bed, paralyzed, and tried to find the energy to stand. It was tempting to lay down and let sleep overwhelm him – in his dreams, at least, he had a chance of seeing her again – but there was still work to be done.

Finally, he dragged himself upright and plodded down the hallway to the stairs.

Tarrlok sat at the kitchen table, several charts spread before him, and his hand cupped his chin as he studied them. A half-eaten bowl of buckwheat noodles was on the table beside him. As Amon approached, the former Councillor spoke without even looking up:

"I've narrowed it down to three possible locations." His fingers tapped three points on the map. "They have metal containment cells that would be ideal for holding the Avatar. Unfortunately, they're scattered across the city. If we infiltrate the wrong base, then there's no chance of us getting anywhere near the other two, because they'll go into lockdown."

Amon pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and served himself a generous helping of noodles from the pot on the stove. "And if a metal cell isn't necessary?"

"You mean, if she's dead? I'm telling you, Amon, there's no way they would kill the Avatar."

Though he hoped that the ex-Councillor was correct, the visions weren't something he could ignore. "Humour me."

"Very well." Tarrlok's broad mouth pulled into a grimace. He marked eight more locations on the map. Unbuckling his mask, Amon lowered himself into a chair and began to eat the noodles, studying the maps as the pattern of bases appeared. Two of them appeared to be old Equalist underground bases. Amon's brow furrowed as he gestured at one near the main docks.

"Are you sure they control this?"

"Yes. It's one of the newest additions to their territory."

"That was the Equalists' most strategic post. There's a network of tunnels that run from that location into almost every district of the city." Amon himself had spent the better part of a decade there, back in the days before the Revelation and everything that followed.

The ex-Councillor folded his hands in front of his face. His tone was measured: "What do you think the odds are that the move on the Avatar and Councillor Midori was an attempt to bait you?"

"I don't think I'm that important to them," said Amon.

"No?" The blue gaze pierced him. "You stripped the bending of eight of their most senior members back when you did that large strike against them four years ago."

The idea that some of the weak captives he had taken had been senior members of the gang was so surprising that Amon couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. "They didn't put up much of a fight."

"One of them was the daughter of the highest-ranking member."

"Is that so." Amon finished the last of his noodles.

"If they are trying to bait you, there's a good chance they might be using one of the old Equalist hideouts in hopes that you will find them."

"Supposition, at best. Do you still have resources who can help us narrow down the location?"

Tarrlok shook his head. "Like I said, I severed contact pretty harshly with them. Most of my knowledge is cobbled together from leaks, old information and police intel."

Amon drummed his fingers on the table, thoughtful. "Any resources who might be persuaded to talk?"

"Monetarily?"

"Or through physical persuasion."

Tarrlok raised a brow. "I like your style, Amon. Yes, I know of such a man, and it would be a pleasure to watch you convince him. He works at a rather seedy location down by the docks, but he won't be there until the evening, so I guess that doesn't help us plan our weapons ahead of time."

Amon nodded; they would just have to take a broad range of weapons to prepare. "Any other information you can share?"

"Yes." Tarrlok sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "The man you attacked – the bloodbender. If he was bloodbending during the day and not during a full moon, then he can only be one of my cousins, Dukkon or Sarokun. Dukkon has two daughters who can do the same. It's a family trait, one that gives them incredible power to command and resist bloodbending."

"And you? Are you able to resist bloodbending?"

"No," said Tarrlok. "Your little girlfriend stripped that from me when she took my bending. Can you still take away their bending?"

"No." Leaning forward, Amon said, "Make one more disrespectful crack about Korra being my 'little girlfriend', and I will be exacting some physical persuasion on you instead."

Although Tarrlok let out an exasperated sigh, he didn't argue; instead, he returned to his noodles. Amon fastened his mask into place and began to trace the marked locations on the maps.

They were silent until the sound of water flooding the pipes indicated that Asami had risen and decided to shower. Tarrlok suddenly leaned forward, his eyes icy.

"There is something I want to ask of you, Amon, while Miss Sato cannot overhear us, because I don't think she would agree. You and I understand how dire this situation is. That the Red Monsoons must be stopped at any cost, because they are escalating out of control. That sometimes the hero a city needs is actually a villain."

His interest piqued, Amon said, "Go on."

Tarrlok's finger stabbed the old Equalist base by the docks. "How intimately do you know every tunnel? Can you draw it from memory?"

"Easily." It had been his home.

"With structural weaknesses?"

Amon turned his head to regard the man. "You want to collapse the entire base."

Tarrlok's gaze did not waver. "Yes. It is their largest stronghold."

After a moment to consider, Amon stood, grabbed a pencil and began to sketch a triangle on the map. Three blocks down to the docks, then up into the city nearly to city hall, then across to the bending arena. He tapped the end of the pencil against the shape. "If you blow the structure, then the most densely-populated area of the city collapses. That's what makes it an ideal hideout: no fool would dare destroy it, potentially sacrificing thousands of innocent lives."

Tarrlok winced. "There must be another option."

Amon held his gaze for a moment, debating how much to share with the man.

"You were the villain once," said the ex-Councillor, "choosing that role to fight for what you thought was best for this city. And as much evil as you did, some good was accomplished. Let me have my turn."

Studying him, Amon said, "Before I tell you, consider that this tunnel network can hold more than a thousand people. You should know that if they are using it as the Equalists did, there will be families among them. Children."

"No – the gang lifestyle demands luxury. Their families would above ground, not in an underground bunker."

"But what if you are wrong?" He circled a wing of the base on the map. "I can tell you how to avoid harming the living quarters quadrant, here. But there may be some children scattered among the rest of the base that would fall victim to the fate you were levying upon their parents."

"Believe me," said Tarrlok quietly, his gaze finally dropping, "if you are correct, then those children are lucky if they escape a life of living under the Red Monsoons shadow."

Amon searched his conscience, trying to determine how he felt about delivering the information. He found that he was still hollow. Numb.

"There are extensive ventilation shafts," he said, "designed in eight self-contained systems. The only way to sweep through the entire base is to hit these eight points in four precise waves, which creates a temporary vacuum. It is a risky attack, as missing these precise locations by even a few metres could cause the base to collapse." He tapped the points on the map in order. "If timed precisely, this attack would reach every area of the base – save for the living quarters – and decimate the entire population."

Again, Tarrlok's gaze pierced his. "Do you know how to set it up properly?"

Amon hesitated.

_Please don't let your anger carry you to a dark place._

He closed his eyes. Korra's gentle blue eyes stared at him from his mind's eye, hurt. His lip curled behind the mask. She didn't understand. She could effect change simply by being. He didn't have centuries of wisdom guiding him, nor an Avatar State to fall back on – and with her dead, then the world didn't have that anymore, either. It couldn't wait sixteen years for a new Avatar to be identified. Action needed to be taken now, or more civilians would die. Feng. The little firebender girl's father. It was only going to escalate. His eyes opened again, trying to erase the vision of Korra from his mind, with little success.

"I don't know if I can help you," he said, struggling. "My days as a revolutionary are behind me, and I've always had an aversion to causing death."

"You think I'm a monster for asking this."

Amon shook his head no. "Not a monster. Just desperate."

"I am. My father, Yakone, founded the Red Monsoons," said Tarrlok quietly. "Avatar Aang's actions against him forced him to flee the city, but he trained and groomed me to return as a leader of the gang, to seize control, his legacy. He was an evil and cruel man, and I had to comply with him to survive. I learned to bloodbend, and then came to the city to infiltrate the gang – but right from the beginning, I was studying the gang for weaknesses. Trying to undo the evil that my father had caused, no matter what the cost." He finally looked at Amon again, who was surprised to see tears lining the ex-Councillor's eyes. "I won't ask you to pull the trigger, only explain to me how to set it up. With your help, it can be a targeted strike, one that minimizes casualties and eliminates the problem permanently. I want you to understand that I am serious about this, Amon: I will give this city what it needs, even if it costs me my life. Even if I go down in history as a villain." With a nod of respect, he said, "Of anyone in this city, I think you understand that."

"That's the real reason you wanted to ally with me." Amon stared through the marked area of the map until his vision doubled. "You weren't after freedom, or even simple revenge – you wanted to perform an all-out assault."

"I prefer to think of it as a correction. I will save this city and undo my father's mistakes."

Amon glanced at the other man, feeling as if he were staring at himself five years earlier. He thought of the newly widowed woman, lamenting that the Equalists and the Council did nothing to stop the gangs. Of Feng's dead eyes, of Korra...

A part of him wondered if his conscience had died with her.

With Tarrlok watching eagerly over his shoulder, Amon carefully marked eight locations on the map, numbering them in order.

.*.*.*.

A thought, whispered, like a faint memory, floated through Korra's mind, and she stopped walking through the haze. A hand curled around hers, panicked yellow eyes stared through her, and then she was falling...

"Why do you stop?" asked her mirror-self by her side.

Korra looked down at the lit pathway before her, then sideways at her spirit-self. Rich brown skin and hair, a pretty face with long-lashed blue eyes and a slightly lopsided mouth. She wore blue robes that twisted around her muscled limbs like water. Violet fog swirled around them, and Korra could feel it pulling her memories away.

"There was a flash, a vision."

"You will experience many things like that here," said the other Korra. "It is all part of the journey, the one you came here to undertake."

"I chose to come here? But I don't even know where I am." Before them, in the distance, glowed a pillar of light, all Korra could see amidst the fog. No – far to her left, she could see glowing red. "What is that?" But as she pointed, she stared at her arm. It was flickering, changing shape and colour, snapping between different styles of clothing and armour. She looked down at her body and saw that it was morphing between different shapes.

Different people.

"What's happening to me?"

The woman stepped closer to her. "You are seeing your true self, the culmination of all your past lives. You wish to save the world, but you cannot save the world on your current path, for it is broken. You are here to learn about yourself, from yourself. You are here to fix the broken path you walk." Her voice fell into a rhythmic chant:

_"There can be no love of others without love of self._

_"There can be no love of self without knowledge of oneself._

_"There can be no knowledge of oneself without isolating oneself from all other influence._

_"The most corrupting influence is one's own delusions about who one is."_ The woman smiled kindly as her voice returned to a natural cadence, and she added, "It is time for you to learn, Avatar. And at the end, you will be judged by your harshest critic: yourself."

"I don't understand." Korra – if that was really who she was anymore – clutched at her head. "The words you're saying aren't making any sense."

"All journeys have a beginning," said the woman. "Here is the start of yours: tell me your name."

The back of Korra's tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, preparing to say her name, when it slid from her mind. She stared blankly at the woman, wondering where the name had gone.

"You don't know?" asked the woman.

"I know I'm the Avatar."

"Then that is what I will call you." The woman smiled. "Do not fret, Avatar. You will earn your name back. In time. Names are a distraction, anyway." She held out a hand. "Come with me. We have much to do."

The Avatar couldn't shake the feeling that she was supposed to be somewhere else, but she didn't know where it was or how to get there. Seeing no other choice, she accepted the woman's hand.

Together, they stepped toward the beam of light.


	11. X: Trustworthy

**X  
Trustworthy**

If Asami had any indication that Tarrlok and Amon had been conspiring, she did not show it. Once she had eaten and Amon had checked her wounds – they looked even worse than the night before, to his concern, but she claimed that medical attention could wait – she announced that it was time to depart for the weapons depot. The three of them settled into her vehicle, the canopy fastening into place above their heads. As they drove, she turned on the police scanner. At first, there were only announcements about petty crimes, but then a familiar voice began to speak. Amon turned to Asami and saw that her knuckles were white on the wheel.

"This is Officer Mako," said the voice. "A reminder to all units that Avatar Korra and Councillor Midori are still missing. A task force is with a canine unit tracking the trail, and all units may be required to assist at a moment's notice, so stay close to your radios.

"In addition, Ex-Councillor Tarrlok is still at large after a brazen attack on the jail last night. He may be accompanied by Amon. Do not approach without calling for backup – Amon is considered extremely dangerous. He may not be wearing his mask. We suspect that his alternate identity is Councillor Midori's aid, Zoran. Approach with extreme caution."

"You can't prove that," said Amon to the radio. He glanced at Asami. "You weren't named among the missing."

"I left a note. He will assume that I'm coming after you and Tarrlok my own way."

"And he isn't going to chase after you?"

"I'm sure he already is." She glanced sideways at him. "Why did you choose to dress like Amon? Doesn't that make you easier to track?"

"Because he misses it," said Tarrlok knowingly from the backseat.

Asami shook her head. "I was going to ask if it was so that these actions can't be traced back to Zoran. Because you have a new life now, and you want to protect it so that you can go back to it once all this is over."

Amon looked out the window, seeing normal citizens stroll down the street. Here, in the wealthier neighbourhoods, people's lives weren't on hold because of the gangs – probably because most of them were connected to the gangs themselves. "You're both wrong. It's because Amon is a symbol of fear, a tool I can use. Nothing more."

"You're lying to yourself," said Tarrlok. "I can see right through you. You love to be a symbol of power."

Amon did not acknowledge the comment, but glanced into the side view mirror, staring at the fearsome masked face. As the urge to smile tugged at his lips, he wondered if Tarrlok might be right.

.*.*.*.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a large warehouse; fittingly, it was the one where Amon had held and purified the members of the Red Monsoons four years earlier. The storage room, at the time, had contained a significant portion of their on-foot arsenal.

"An excellent choice of warehouses," he said to Asami.

She nodded. "I regained control over this one last year." She parked by the enormous metal doors, then stepped out of the vehicle. "It's changed a lot from when you were here last."

"Fewer weapons?" he asked, a bit disappointed.

She grinned. "No. More."

Striding up to a small panel of numbers next to the door, she inserted a key, twisted it, and then her fingers flew over the digits. With a shuddering groan, the door began to slide open, revealing a wall of stacked crates inside, the rest cloaked in darkness.

"Are these all weapons?" asked Tarrlok, awed, as he stepped into the room.

"Factory and machinery parts, mostly recovered from weapons – with a Council-appointed inspector's blessing, of course. The weapons are this way." As she lead them down a winding pathway between stacked crates, Asami added, "Each time we gain control of a new weapon cache, we bring it here to dismantle. The city allows us to do so, so long as each individual weapon is dismantled within the space of one calendar year, and we submit to regular inspections." Cocking a brow back at Amon, she said, "It always amazes me just how massive the weapon collection is. It must have cost your followers millions upon millions."

"We had an expansive force," said Amon. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered what it was like to speak to a sea of thousands of faces – sometimes at this very warehouse – as all of his followers worshipped him as a gift from the Spirits.

They came to a reinforced door, and Asami entered another code into the panel. The door swung open, the crack of light slowly filling the room. Amon stared at the dissembled remains of what had once been his world, his whole reason for existence. Equalist gloves, batons, bombshells, gears, wires... As the overhead lights began to heat up, he even saw dismantled pieces of airships by the back walls. He felt his jaw slacken. So many weapons. He had always thought of the Revolution as a movement based in peace, with war as a last resort, but seeing all these weapons in one place drove home the scale of all he had planned. His fingers ran through a bucket of nuts and bolts to confirm this room was real and not the remnants of a forgotten nightmare.

Behind him, Tarrlok was spinning absently, taking in the mountain of supplies. "I had no idea that your people had this many arms at their disposal." He stared at Amon, open-mouthed. "You really were planning full-out war. I was right to chase after you with every measure I could."

"Perhaps we were both wrong."

"You two get what you need; I'll be right back," said Asami, ducking out of the doorway. The instant she left, Tarrlok darted forward.

"We need bombs," he said. "To destroy the base." He must have seen Amon's hesitation, for he added, "We may also need them to break the Avatar and the Councillor out of their prison, depending where they are being held."

A fair point. Amon scoured the bins. There were several bombs that were triggered by charges and wires, but they would be too clumsy to set up and execute. His eyes locked onto a bin of heat bombs, and he approached them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tarrlok pluck a leather bag from a hook on the wall and join him.

"Here." Amon picked up the small square bomb and cracked the casing, and Tarrlok flinched. "It's inactive." His fingers moved deftly across the wires, looping them into place around specific gears, save for one. "This one is the arming wire; once it's hooked up to this gear, the bomb is armed. It will be triggered by any neighbouring burst of heat. Set these up at the points I marked on the map and, like stacked Pai Sho tiles clattering one after another in a row, the explosion will travel through the vents."

"I didn't expect you to be so handy with a wrench, so to speak," said Tarrlok. "I always had you pegged as uneducated."

"Do not mistake unschooled for uneducated." Amon grabbed another bomb and moved the wires into place. "Your problem is that you come from money, and so you were given only one route to success: excel at bending, excel at school, excel at a career – legitimate or otherwise – and grease a few palms along the way as needed. Those of us who grew up with nothing have had to improvise, which leads to a type of resourcefulness that your kind will never know."

Tarrlok snorted, unconvinced.

As Amon began to set the bombs in his bag, his fingers brushed against the book Feng had addressed to him and Midori, the one about teas, and he cursed to himself. He had been distracted away from it the night before. He thought of Korra, lost in violet fog, and vowed to try to fit together the pieces the instant they got back to the safe house.

Once the bags were full, Amon began to wander past the crates, looking for a weapon for Tarrlok. His feet slowed as he neared a bin of electrified kali sticks, the kind his lieutenant had used. Most chi-blockers had avoided them – the battery pack was so heavy that it hindered nimble fighters – but it had been ideal for strong, brute-force fighters like Lee. Thinking about Lee was depressing him even more than he already was, so he turned back to Tarrlok and gestured at the bin.

"Grab two of these and a battery pack, and put them on." At the man's affronted look, he added, "I want to see how you fight with them. Without electricity, please."

Frowning, Tarrlok slung the battery pack over his shoulders, mounting it on his back. He held the sticks in front of his body. Amon stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. "Attack me."

Tarrlok thrust forward, his movements flowing and circular. Amon didn't even have to strain to sidestep him.

"More direct. Less circular."

With a glare, the ex-Councillor said, "I was a waterbender. I can't avoid moving in circular movements if my life depended on it."

"Then maybe instead of trying to retrain you, we should make you a weapon that is closer to your element." After fishing through a few crates, Amon pulled out two thick cables, each about six feet long. He held them out. "Try wielding these like water whips."

Tarrlok stared blankly at them. "They're metal."

"Excellent observation," said Amon dryly. "Move them as if they are water."

The first few swings were awkward, but then the motion clicked: Tarrlok stepped forward, and the cables snapped at Amon as if they were an extension of his movements.

Tarrlok grinned. "Now that's more like it." He gave several more thrusts, using waterbending stances, and the cables snapped and spun through the air. "I never thought that Amon would be the one to help me reclaim the feeling of being a bender, if only a fraction of it. Thank you. Truly. I don't think you can understand how empty, how helpless a person feels once that ability is taken from them."

Amon frowned and looked away. It seemed he wasn't impervious to guilt after all.

When they returned to the entrance, Asami was waiting for them, holding a black Equalist glove. "Do you like it?" she asked, holding it out to Amon. "A new prototype I've been working on. It's lighter and more precise than the traditional gloves."

Amon turned it on, testing it out, then opened its back panel to examine the wiring. "You did this yourself?"

"Of course," she said.

"Impressive." He handed it back to her. "I need your help electrifying Tarrlok's new weapon. I can walk you through the schematics."

"I'm your girl." The words and proud tone made him uncomfortable. As he glanced at her beaming face, he wondered if he had accidentally become a replacement father figure.

"Let's go," said Tarrlok. "I want to have time to practice with it a bit before we start the assault."

"Infiltration," corrected Amon.

"Infiltration," repeated Tarrlok, but there was a smirk on his lips.

.*.*.*.

There were no new updates on the police scanner. Amon shook his head. Of course the police wouldn't be able to find Midori and Korra – they were too tied with restrictions and procedure. Tonight, the three of them would accomplish what an entire police force could not.

Back at the safe house, Amon spread out the parts he had taken for Tarrlok's weapon and walked Asami through his concept. Like her father, she was quick to follow his ideas and suggest a few improvements, and in the end, he decided to let her innovate. It was a shame they hadn't been on the same side during the Equalist war.

Once she began to work, he retired to his room. Sitting on his bed, he pulled free the book and the herbs from Feng. The book was dog-eared in several places. The first two marked pages were tea recipes; Amon skimmed them and found nothing of interest.

The third, however, was a concoction used by ancient monks, primarily based around an herb with the poetic name of "spiritsong."

_A_ _s a rite of passage, the monks took the herbal compound to leave their corporeal selves and venture to a bridge between the material and spirit worlds, where they would be confronted by a series of revelations about themselves. Some described it as a set of trials, while others experienced a metaphysical journey. The herb was extremely potent, and the practice was largely discontinued two hundred years ago due to risk of internal hemorrhage and other physical complications, sometimes resulting in death._

Engrossed, Amon digested the rest of the passage, then sat back, tracing the strokes of the "Spirit" character on the paper-wrapped oils. While under the influence of spiritsong, the monks approached a trance-like state resembling death. The visions were extremely disorienting, and it was easy for a monk's spirit to lose its way back to the body. Many of the monks undergoing the ritual took days, or even weeks, to return to consciousness; some died of dehydration before that happened.

Amon stared at the symbol until it swam. Korra. This is what they had done to Korra, it had to be: separated her spiritual self from her corporeal self. Lost in the other world, she could not call on the Avatar State, but was not dead, either. Hope blossomed so violently in his chest that it blocked his throat; he couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe.

If he was correct, she could still be alive.

His logical side tried to dull his hope. If anyone knew who she was, it was the Avatar. Such trials would not disorient her; she would be able to find her way back. Asami's lost ghost theory was more likely, he reasoned, and he had to cling to that option for the sake of his sanity: getting his hopes up and then having them crushed would destroy him.

He took a deep breath, surprised to find that he was shaking, and that was when he realized his hope was already ballooning out of control.

"How do I get her back?" he whispered, his fingers tracing the lines of text.

There: the monks supervising the ritual would place a sprig of an herb called adrenneth under the tongue. This herb was the antidote, the one that allowed the body to overcome the physical effects of the drug, but only if the spirit was able to find its way back. Cross-referencing this other herb, he held out the bag of what he had assumed was tea, comparing the herbs with the image. He laughed, overjoyed.

"Thank you, Feng."

He almost took the oils right there, hoping to find her again in that world between the worlds. The package was spread open before him and he was searching his pockets for a knife, when he came to his senses. All of the complications in his life lately had arisen because instead of relying on his strength – strategy – he had acted impulsively. He must let reason be his guide. There was no point in risking his life to save her until he confirmed that she was actually alive.

He bolted down the stairs and sprinted to Asami, who was bent over a mass of wires and metal on the living room floor.

"I believe Korra may be alive," he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes magnified comically by her goggles. "What? Really?" She smoothed them back from her face. "How? Why?"

"It is supposition," he admitted, "but the pieces fit." Unable to hold still, he paced as she continued her work, explaining the herbal concoction and its effect.

"You think the dart contained the mixture," she said when he was done.

"And once we find her body, we will be able to help her complete the ritual and return to it. She's lost, and can't find her way back."

"Which is why she hasn't triggered the Avatar State." Asami bit her lip. "I hope you're right. I truly do." She didn't sound convinced.

"You still think she's dead," he said.

"I don't want to destroy your hopes, Amon, but what I saw..." She trailed off. "You said it yourself: the herbs are dangerous." Clearing her throat, she held out a bundle of wires. "Here. I need you to hold this while I twist the casing into place."

Amon tried to keep the tremble from his hands as he watched her wrap thick strips of metal around the wires. "It's impressive that you were able to cobble this together with so few supplies."

Standing, she blushed. "Well, it's not going to be a particularly resilient weapon, but it should do. There." She took the cords from his hands and wrapped the base in leather, then plugged them into the battery pack. The cords hummed with electricity.

"You can touch it if you want," she said. "I didn't make them too strong, in case Tarrlok accidentally hits himself with them." Holding her good hand over it, she winced as an arc of electricity jumped into her palm.

"My hands have had enough electrifying for one lifetime, thanks."

Turning it off, she said, "Well? What do you think?"

"You are your father's daughter," he replied.

"Thank you." She surprised him by launching at his chest, wrapping her arms around him.

He cleared his throat. "Miss Sato."

There was a pause. Her cheeks glowed a fierce red as she stepped away from him, her eyes downcast. "Sorry. I- I shouldn't have done that."

After an awkward silence, he said, "We are partners on this mission, Miss Sato, and nothing more. Do not mistake my praise as anything more than respect."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, still not looking up at him. "I guess it's just...you seem so strong, and knowledgeable, and trustworthy. I miss that in my life, with my father gone..."

He thought of the bombs in his satchel. "I am not trustworthy."

"Of course you're trustworthy. Korra trusted you with her life."

The words made his stomach twinge. How would Korra feel if she knew he was planning to aid Tarrlok in extinguishing the lives of as many as a thousand Red Monsoons? Even one death would be too much for her to bear.

_"How many people have died for your revolution, Amon?"_

_"I'd prefer it if none did."_

The memory slammed into him, nearly knocked him off balance. He recalled her look of surprise at his answer, bordering on admiration.

He was a different man now, he reasoned. That had been a less desperate time, when he had had the option of a peaceful solution. With no energybending abilities, and no Avatar-

_But she may be alive._

Amon whirled and stormed toward the kitchen.

"Wait," called Asami. "Tell me what's on your mind. Maybe I can help."

He turned to face her. "Before you are quick to trust me, Miss Sato, remember that I am the one who took your father away from you – his trust of me landed him in prison, his life destroyed."

"He made his choice-" she began, but Amon knew that anything she could say would just be platitudes. He turned away.

Once inside the kitchen, he slammed the door closed behind him. His hands gripped the edge of the counter and he bowed his head, closing his eyes.

_Trustworthy._

.*.*.*.

Korra had fallen to the bed beside him, still panting. It had been a cold night, the middle of winter, and his flushed skin had tingled as she curled up next to him. Her cheek pressed into his chest, and he felt himself smile. His hand, still clumsy, found its way to her hair, and he combed through the lightly tangled mass.

"I should visit more often," she said. "It's nice and warm here."

"Warm?" He could see his breath.

Korra nodded against his chest. "The shutters at Air Temple Island don't exactly keep the heat in."

He craned his neck so that he could see her face. "Don't you come from the South Pole?"

"I know, I know. Republic City is turning me into a weather wimp. Mmm, get over here; you're radiating heat." She pulled the blankets snugly around her shoulders and nestled against him. "Aside from the warmth, there's the perk that we can be as loud as we want here."

Amon didn't reply because he didn't want her to censor herself, but he thought with some embarrassment of the kindly widow who lived next door. Still, it was nice not to have to worry about any of the many denizens of Air Temple Island bursting in on their room. Unfortunately, there was an expense to the larger bed and the more convenient location – it was easy to sneak an anonymous hooded man into a remote island, but difficult to sneak the Avatar into a crowded city building.

"Have you considered moving into the city yourself?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Naga is pretty attached to the girls – she sleeps with Jinora every night now. And Pema seems to appreciate the help with the kids. I know it's a bit inconvenient for both of us, but I'd rather stay there for another year or two, if I can. Besides..." She shifted her head to look up at him. "If I moved to the city, I'd want it to be because I was moving in with you."

He quickly looked away.

"No, you don't get to pretend to be unaffected by that," she chided. "My ear is right over your heart. I hear it racing." She reached up to tug his chin, forcing him to look at her, and then tapped his nose. "You want to move in with me." Her voice was sing-song, and he found himself smiling.

"Well, of course. I relish the idea of waking to your beautiful face every day." He kissed the inside of her palm.

"To be fair, you do almost every day already."

"Yes, but it is usually in a rush, when I'm about to sneak home." He nuzzled against her hand. "Think of all the things we could do if we had more time. I could cook you breakfast. With meat in it."

With a pleased groan, she said, "Oh, how I've missed meat in my breakfast. And think about how spontaneously we could make love, without having to travel."

"I always considered the boat ride to be a part of the foreplay," said Amon dryly, and she laughed.

He let his head fall back against the pillow, his smile fading. "If our situation were different, Korra..."

She sighed. Releasing his face, her fingers skated to his chest, then began to trace circles in the soft hair there. For a long time, they were silent. He focused on the path of her fingertips, relishing in her touch.

"The girl you were with before you came back," said Korra. "Mareka, was it?"

He stiffened. "Yes?"

"Did you live with her?"

"Korra, we agreed not to-"

"I know." Her voice shrank: "I'm just curious."

He began to stroke her hair again. "No, but we were planning to move in together. We were looking for a place to purchase together, when..." He trailed off.

"When I ruined everything for you," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. "No. You didn't ruin anything. You were always right, Korra. I always knew you were right."

"After we were trapped in the cave, you mean." She glanced up at him. "Pretty sure you hated me before that."

He chuckled. "A fair point. But the feeling was mutual, was it not?"

"True." Her hand stopped tracing circles. "What do you think would have happened if we hadn't been trapped together, Amon? If we hadn't been forced to see eye-to-eye."

His eyes closed. After a long pause, he said, "War."

"War," she agreed. "Sometimes I think about what would have happened if we had continued as enemies. What we would have missed. It breaks my heart. I see you following your ideals into darkness, your attacks on the city escalating until I have no choice but to face you as your enemy. I see the Equalists becoming a true army. Death. Destruction. I see myself meeting that head on, tapping into the destructive side of being the Avatar, giving into that violence out of desperation." She frowned. "It is a dark result. For both of us."

"One that didn't happen." He laid a slow kiss into the top of her head. "We found peace. The Equalists became true idealists. You and I led one another away from the darkness."

"I'm glad. So, so glad." She twisted and crawled up his body, her mouth meeting his.

"As am I," he whispered into her lips.

.*.*.*.

Amon slammed his palms into the counter.

He saw now: sometimes darkness was the only way – that he might try to escape the darkest side of himself, but it had always been there, waiting for an excuse to resurface.

_Korra, forgive me for what I have become._

"Amon?" came Asami's voice from the other side of the door; the concerned tone made guilt rise in his chest, hot and prickly. He opened the door and pushed past her.

"Make your final preparations," he said without looking at her. "Night falls in an hour."

He closed himself in his room, drowning his conflict in the final preparations. He left the bottles of alcohol in the house, his bag already heavy with the bombs that would bring destruction to the Red Monsoons. The necessary herbs and the book were nestled in the side pocket – he double- and triple-checked that they were there, still wrestling with the dizzying hope that they would be necessary.

Somehow, he managed to contain his restless energy until nightfall. He sat in the back seat of the Satomobile, drumming his fingers on the seat as Tarrlok gave Asami directions to the place where they would meet his contact. As they neared the docks, the roads narrowed around them, even the main streets feeling like back alleys. Every last bit of metal trim on the buildings around them was rusted here, and the air was thick with the scent of the sea – as always, to him, the scent of death. It struck him as odd that the scent was even stronger here than on the water, but then he realized that the water had a breeze. The dank air settled here, trapped between the buildings. Choking them.

"Park here," instructed Tarrlok once he had led them to a parking lot overlooking the water. "We should walk from here. Your vehicle suggests wealth or gang ties, and we don't want to advertise either."

"But don't the masks attract attention?" said Asami, stepping out of the vehicle.

"If they recognize me before I get to the contact, I'm dead on sight," said Tarrlok. "And you, Miss Sato, must wear one because you're a ripe target for kidnapping and extortion. Follow me." He led them toward the alley. "You may see some things that are a bit more scandalous than you're accustomed to, especially you, Miss Sato. My apologies in advance if you're offended."

The woman's brows dropped, and Amon could see that, like Korra, she did not care to be patronized due to her gender. She buckled on her mask and fell into step on Amon's other side, away from Tarrlok.

They pulled alongside the corner of a shop, peering into the street. Amon had never noticed this particular row of buildings; they looked as if they had not been painted since Republic City's creation.

"There," whispered Tarrlok, pointing at a blocky two-story building. The metal roof was lined with dripping rust stains; paint flaked off of cement. The windows were all fogged, and the light coming from within was tinted odd colours: reds, blues, greens. A badly-faded sign above the main entrance read, "Gentleman Club." The spacing suggested that there had been an 's' on the end of it at one point, but so long ago that there wasn't even a faded mark in its place. Amon raised an eyebrow.

"You're bringing us to a club of ill repute?"

"That's one way to put it."

"Did you come here often?" asked Asami, wrinkling her nose. Tarrlok's eyes narrowed at her.

"Strictly for business only." Still, he adjusted his mask in a way that made Amon think that it wasn't just their contact who might recognize him.

They swung around the back of the building, and Tarrlok led them to a basement window. He tried to open it, and frowned. "Locked."

"Allow me." Amon crouched in front of it and, studying it, pulled out a small tin box he kept in his robes. His survival kit, one he had carried with him for decades. He pushed aside the flint and steel to retrieve two lock picks; listening carefully for telltale clicks, he began to finesse the lock.

"I didn't realize you were handy with a lock pick," said Asami.

"I have a wide variety of skills." The lock was rusty, and he frowned, deciding to try a different approach. Removing the pins, he analyzed the lock for its weakest point. _There._ Two fingers darted out and struck the metal. It splintered out from the point of contact. Another blow did the trick; the rusted lock shattered.

Tarrlok's eyes were wide. "You just jabbed through metal with your bare fingers."

"Remember that the next time you find yourself at odds with me." Amon lifted the window, delicately moving it so that the hinges did not sing, then eased through the opening and dropped into the room.

Looking around, he could see that he was in a liquor storage cellar. There was enough caked dust to put the Equalist shack near the police station to shame, and the wine looked to be about the same quality. A few scattered personal possessions – underwear, a feather boa, a man's shirt – gave an indication as to the sophistication of the people who attended the location. At least, that was Amon's thought, until he realized that he and Korra having sex in a closet in City Hall wasn't exactly classy. He didn't know whether to blush at the memory, or embrace a surge of hope, or sink into depression, so he abandoned it and turned to help Asami and Tarrlok down instead.

Once all three of them were in the basement, Tarrlok took the lead. At the end of the storage room was a narrow set of stairs. They climbed to the main level, where they could hear jazz music streaming from the main room – it might have been a cultured sound, were it not so obnoxiously loud. At least it gave them some cover. Tarrlok led them up a second level, which opened into a long hallway.

There were several rooms lining the wall, all with closed doors, and the sounds of people moaning and crying out could be heard from within them. Amon wished he could close his ears to it; he didn't want to be reminded that people were finding comfort in each other's arms while Korra was out of his reach, hurt or dead.

A double door stood at the end of the hallway, and Tarrlok cocked his nose at it. Amon sped forward and quietly tested the knob. Locked. He bent down to examine it, then glanced back at his companions.

Tarrlok raised his brows _:_ a question.

Amon nodded and pulled out the lock picking tools; he had just inserted them when footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. Spinning, he signalled for Tarrlok and Asami to run.

They turned to flee. Amon, quick on his feet, managed to round the corner and hide in the stairwell, but his companions weren't as swift. As the door began to swing open, Tarrlok grabbed Asami and threw her against the wall, pressing his masked face into her neck. Amon's teeth clenched; he slunk back into the stairwell, eyes locked on them. He could see Asami tense, but she went along with the act, her arm awkwardly wrapping around Tarrlok's waist.

"Hey," came a voice at the end of the hall. "You can't do that here. Rent a room or get out."

Tarrlok and Asami both looked up with masked faces. Amon wished he could see the look on the man's face.

"Sorry," said Asami sweetly. "How much is a room?"

There was a pause. "They're all in use. Get out of here. Masked freaks."

That was when Amon zeroed in on Tarrlok's hand on the woman's waist: it was shaking. Nervous. The voice belonged to their contact.

Fire kindled in Amon's abdomen. He flew around the corner and rushed at the man, analyzing him as he closed the distance: portly, thinning hair, watery eyes, cigar in his teeth, Red Monsoons symbol at his throat. The man's eyes widened and he raised his hands, but before he could call forth any water, a gloved hand gripped his throat. Spinning, Amon slammed him into the wall.

"Amon!" sputtered the contact. "But you're dead."

"Where is the Avatar?" he growled, leaning in closer.

"Take it easy, Amon," said Tarrlok as he and Asami approached.

Amon wondered why they were looking at him with such wide eyes, but then he looked back at his captive and saw that the man's face was turning purple. He pulled away, and the man fell to the ground, wheezing.

"That's a taste of what you'll get if you try to retaliate or call for help," said Amon smoothly. He could feel his companions' eyes boring into him, but felt no regret. They could judge him all he wanted: until he found out what had happened to Korra, he wasn't going to hold back.

"Shall we step into your office, Kit?" asked Tarrlok, holding out a hand to assist him. The man knocked it away and stood. As he marched toward his office, he held his head in a way that suggested he was trying to maintain some dignity.

The inside of the office wasn't much nicer than the rest of the building, and Amon sidestepped a suspect yellow-brown stain on the white carpet. Kit settled into a cheap-looking wooden chair at the table, gesturing for the others to take a seat as well.

"You can take off your mask, Tarrlok," he said. "I know it's you. And keep your dog on a tighter leash." He glared at Amon and rubbed his neck, cringing. "That's going to bruise."

"I wouldn't refer to him as my dog; he has a bit of a temper," said the ex-Councillor as he unbuckled his mask and set it on the table.

"And your girlfriend?" asked Kit, nodding at Asami. The woman was hunched, her arms folded tightly over her chest.

"She'll keep her mask on. I imagine my so-called dog will, too."

"Just as well." Kit's eyes narrowed at Amon. "I hear he's hideous under there. Just eyes, a nose and a mouth amidst ground meat. You know those rumours, that he screwed the Avatar? My theory is that she saw his face and took pity on him."

Amon's jaw twitched, and his fingers curled into the armrests, staying himself. The information this man held was more important than his pride or Korra's honour.

"Cocky and crass as always," said Tarrlok, shaking his head. "I figured you'd be more surprised to see us."

Kit shook his head no. "Him, yes, but not you. We all know you're being fed information. Can't tell who's doing it, but they're feeding information to a few others as well. A Councillor. A couple cops, the ones who won't let us line their pockets. One of our merchant suppliers, the herbalist fellow."

"Feng," growled Amon.

"Feng. That's it."

"He's dead."

"They killed him? Saw that coming." Kit shook his head. "He was too much of a do-gooder. Rumour has it he was doubling all our orders, slipping the other halves to the police or the Council so they could piece together our plans. Poor bastard had no clue his delivery boy was one of ours."

It was all Amon could do to stop himself from launching over the table and driving his fingers into the man's throat, ending his miserable life in an excruciating instant. Instead, he demanded, "Is the Avatar alive?"

"I think I've already given you more information than you deserve," said the man. "First: Tarrlok, I have to know why you think I'll do anything to help you. You betrayed everything your father stood for. You sold us out. What makes you think I'll suddenly be your pal, after your treachery locked away my brother?" Leaning over the edge of the desk, Kit smirked. "And then all the arrests you made in your brief rampage while Chief Beifong was out of office – how ironic that you ended up in jail with them. I bet they showed you a good time in prison."

Tarrlok stood so quickly that before his chair had clattered to the floor, he had grabbed Kit by the back of the head and slammed him into the desk. The man stumbled backwards, the skin on his forehead split and bleeding; Asami pushed away from the table, startled.

Amon, anticipating a counter-attack, darted to Kit's side right as the man began to raise his arms; the arms fell, useless, thanks to Amon's chi-block. Eyes darting around him, Amon saw several containers of water in the corners of the room: they had been seconds from a waterbending attack.

Tarrlok mashed his palms against the table, leaning as far over it as he could without actually climbing onto its surface. "You listen to me, Kit," he growled. "Drop the games. I still have dirt on you that I never used, and you know it. Between me and my companions, I can take your bending and lock you away for a long time."

Taking his cue, Amon clamped a hand onto the back of the man's neck, forcing him to his knees. Kit looked up at him, eyes wide, his skin flushed and greasy.

"Okay, okay, don't get oversensitive. I'll talk. What do I care, anyway? I'm barely active with them anymore – they mostly just use me for discounts on my ladies." Kit raised his hands in the air. "Let's be civil, gentlemen."

Amon jerked the man upright and shoved him back into the chair. Taking the time to walk past Tarrlok on the way back to his seat, he said softly, "Control yourself."

The ex-Councillor didn't react, his narrowed eyes still locked on Kit. "Your people took Councillor Midori and Avatar Korra. Where are they?"

"The main base. The old Equalist one, not far from here." The gang member's eyes dodged between them, as if he expected another strike at any second.

"I knew it," said Tarrlok, grinning. "I knew it was being used as the main base. How many people are stationed there?"

"Not many," said Kit. "If they're guarding the prisoners, then maybe a dozen at most."

"A dozen? I figured it would be more than that."

"It's an emergency refuge only. They wanted a bunker in case things went badly, nothing more."

Slowly, Tarrlok sank back into his chair, his brows pinched and mouth tight. Amon thought of the bombs he carried in his bag; it looked like they wouldn't be needed after all. His whole moral confusion was for nothing. That, at least, was a bit of good news.

"Why did they take Korra and Midori?" asked Asami, her voice shaky.

Kit shrugged. "Mostly out of panic. The Council's proposal to hunt us down was gaining momentum, and this was the quickest way to slow it. They also hoped to lure out this Zoran fellow who was causing them so much trouble." He cocked a brow at Amon. "And it was you all along, wasn't it? I imagine someone figured out your true identity, and you became even more valuable still."

Shaking his head, Amon said, "That plan sounds sloppy."

"Don't overestimate the sophistication of the Red Monsoons. They are thugs at heart, with no real leaders since your attacks on them years ago. There is squabbling and in-fighting, and allies backstabbing one another to fight for power. The only reason they're gaining ground in the city is because of their numbers. They're taking it one step at a time, and they're probably making some hasty decisions now that they realize they're in over their heads."

Panic fluttered in Amon's chest. He had been operating under the assumption that the gang was working together as a coordinated machine, holding Midori and Korra for some greater plan. If it was a knee-jerk reaction – if there was no greater plan aside from silencing the women and revenge on him – then that meant he couldn't try to outpace their strategy. An uncoordinated opponent was the hardest to read, and the most likely to take rash actions.

"Is Korra alive?" he demanded.

Kit shrugged, wiping the dripping blood from his face. "Feng was whipping up something for them. Idea was to somehow separate her from her body, keep her from going all Avatar State on them. He wasn't sure it would work – thought it might outright kill her instead – but they pushed him to go ahead with it anyway, wanted to have it on hand in case they needed it." There was a long silence, then his chin lifted. "You know, you bastard, you took my daughter's bending. She was never the same after that."

"Don't change the topic." Amon's heartbeat pounded in his ears like a drum. "Is she alive?"

Kit's face twisted into a sneer, and he leaned back in his chair. "I always thought it was funny: the Avatar, the supposed protector of all benders, keeper of the balance, was fucking Amon. I bet she was waiting for you in bed while you ruined my daughter's life, right? Too busy getting herself wet for you to help the benders who needed her."

Every muscle in Amon's body screamed to tear the man apart. He rose to his feet, barely restraining himself from lashing out. Tarrlok called his name in caution, but he ignored him, all his attention focused on Kit.

The taunting continued: "I bet she goes into the Avatar State when she comes, doesn't she? One second you're plowing into her tight little-"

He vaulted the table and cracked his knuckles into the back of the man's neck.

Kit collapsed. Asami and Tarrlok yelled and jumped back.

Amon stormed to the wall and punched it hard enough to leave a fist-sized hole in the plasterboard, then two more. His forehead sagged against the battered plaster and he closed his eyes. His heart raced out of control, and he couldn't slow his harsh breaths no matter how hard he tried. Through the nose: in, out.

"Is he dead?" said Tarrlok's voice behind him.

"No. He's still breathing," said Asami.

Booted footsteps were storming up behind him now. "What the hell, Amon?" demanded Tarrlok.

He didn't open his eyes. "You attacked him as well."

"I didn't knock him out! He was still talking."

"He wasn't going to tell us a single word more." Amon turned to face him. "He was just looking to make one last power play before we killed him."

"But we don't need to kill him," said Asami. Looking at Amon with wide eyes, she added, "Right?"

"He's going to be a loose end."

"After he squealed like that?" said Tarrlok. "No. He's going to pretend he didn't have anything to do with it." Shaking his head, he added, "I can't believe he successfully baited both of us like that. Let's get out of here."

On their way out the door, Amon lifted his mask to spit on Kit, a gesture he had never done – it contradicted his code of honour to disrespect an opponent. It felt good, even if it did make Asami wrinkle her nose at him.

As he fell into place behind his companions and reflected on the conversation, he realized that every time he had asked if Korra was dead, Kit had changed the subject.

The hope he had been wrestling with suddenly engulfed him, and he began to sprint for the door.

_I will find you, Korra, and I will save you. No matter what the cost._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Description of blood & an intimate area of the body may trigger some readers. If you want a version with this reference removed, please let me know via PM.

**XI**

**Light**

This time it was Amon who led his companions, flames of hope spurring him to surge ahead. They were so close to finding Korra and Midori. He literally knew the old Equalist base better than he knew his own face – there was nowhere to hide them. Retracing their steps back to the car, then several blocks north, he found a familiar alley. It was like falling back into an old dance as he wove through the back streets of the neighbourhood, Tarrlok and Asami rushing to keep up with him. The buildings around them were unexpectedly decrepit, the dirt in the crevices and broken, dirty windows suggesting that more than four years had passed. Even here at the docks, the toughest of the districts, the streets were nearly empty. The few dock workers they passed kept their eyes on the ground, carefully trained not to make eye contact with anyone.

_She's alive. I know she's alive. He couldn't confirm that she was dead._ His hope was too strong to quash now, soaring above his logic. He felt as if she were racing beside him, urging him forward, calling to him:  _you are almost there, Amon. We are almost together again._

He rounded the final corner, then slowed, waiting for his companions caught up. Tarrlok stopped several feet away, then tentatively approached the alley full of dumpsters.

"I was going to say that I'm glad our masks don't have nose holes," muttered the ex-Councillor. "But I can taste the garbage anyway."

"There used to be a light here," said Amon, barely able to see the walls around them.

"On it," said Asami, and a small blue light burst to life. As Amon's eyes adjusted, he saw that she was wearing the black lightning glove she had shown him, and its centre was glowing. Perhaps noticing his impressed gaze, Asami added quietly, "I've been studying Mako's firebending to try to mimic it in as many ways as I can."

"Most useful." Striding up to a metal door in the wall, Amon flipped open a panel on its surface to reveal a number pad, almost invisible in the dark.

Asami bent down beside him, examining it. "I might be able to dismantle this."

"There's something I can try first." He punched in a six digit code. From deep within the door, they heard the click of a gear sliding into place, and he shook his head. "Lazy bastards didn't even reprogram it."

"That seems too easy," said Tarrlok.

"Maybe your contact was right, and they aren't as organized as they like to think." The prospect both gave Amon hope and terrified him; he hated unpredictability in a foe. He swung open the door slowly, its hinges barely creaking. He knew the first area to search: the cell block on the deepest floor, where the Equalists had held their political prisoners. Ironically, it was where he, Lee and Midori had once held several of the Red Monsoons. He took a step into the metal hallway.

"Amon," said Tarrlok, stopping him. "Remember to keep your temper under control."

With a glance back, Amon replied, "I do not promise that I will be able to control my anger, particularly if Korra has been hurt."

"That is fine when it's appropriate, but don't eschew strategy in favour of vengeance."

Amon nodded. "And same to you." Turning to Asami, he added, "Remember our discussion last night, Miss Sato: should there be more than we expect down here, then once we have Midori and Korra, you are to take them to safety while Tarrlok and I clean up the mess."

Her eyes narrowed. "If Korra is alive, you are never going to get her to agree to that, and you know it."

He cleared the tightness in his throat, then tentatively stepped into the metal hallway, scouring the area for traps or surveillance equipment. Finding none, he waved Tarrlok and Asami inside.

Tarrlok pulled out the crude map that Amon had drawn for him, angling it to catch the light from Asami's glove. Amon pointed at their current location.

"We need to get to this stairwell here," he said, tracing the path. He tapped out the next locations: "There are three potential vulnerable points along the way, where our flanks open up to other pathways. The acoustics are heavily in the favour of those approaching from the east-west corridor here, so guard your footfall carefully. Should you be ambushed, fall back to the doorway at the end of this hallway – it's the most defensible position in this quadrant."

Tarrlok glanced at him. "Sounds like you're planning to send us off on our own."

"I'm going to loop around the longer path to scout for ambushes. We will rendezvous at the stairwell."

"You'll need light," said Asami, tossing him a small tube, and he nodded his thanks. He twisted it, and it gave a faint blue glow like her glove.

Then he spun and broke into a sprint, doubled over, arms stretched behind him as he ran. His feet flew across the metal, barely making a sound. With his speed and his stealth, he could be on an enemy before they even know he was there.

Spirits, it felt good to run this fast, to run with purpose. To run for Korra. He was almost dizzy, almost delirious with hope. They were so close to her now, so close.

He rounded the final corner and slipped into the stairwell. No sign of surveillance, no sign of life. He descended the stairs and opened the door on the lower floor. The corridor there was empty as well, not even a glow of light to suggest that others were there. This wasn't right. He flexed his fingers, his knuckles cracking even as the skin smarted from his lightning wounds. If Kit had intentionally led them astray, he was going to suffer.

Tarrlok and Asami rounded the corner, and Tarrlok cocked his head. "See anyone?"

Amon shook his head no.

"This isn't right," said Tarrlok, teeth bared. "We didn't see anyone, either. With only a dozen guards, you'd think they would be patrolling."

"We can't assume anything. They may have no defensive strategy whatsoever."

"That's even worse," muttered Tarrlok, and Amon silently agreed.

"Let's keep going." Asami held up her glove and peered around them. "Maybe there's a guard shift change or something, and this is a short window of opportunity. Where to next?"

"This way." Amon led them down the corridor, sprinting ahead to check for Red Monsoons around every corner; each time they found no one, his anxiety grew, until it began to choke him. He broke into a full sprint as they rounded the final corner, then burst into the cell block.

There were no guards, but a figure was curled on the floor of the first cell. Amon ran forward and gripped the bars.

Midori.

Her salt-and-pepper bob was matted, and bloodstains marred her brown business suit. Her skin looked sickly, its pallour a stark contrast to the dark stone floor.

"Midori," he whispered, sliding to a crouch.

Her head lifted; her eyes, wild and feverish, flew open, and she skittered back against the wall.

"Midori, it's me. Amon. I'm here to rescue you."

Recognition washed over her features, but then her eyes narrowed. "Firebender," she spat. "You are one of them. You always were."

In his periphery, he saw Tarrlok and Asami come to a halt on either side of him. Asami sank to her knees with a soft gasp.

"She's in bad shape," said Tarrlok grimly.

Amon studied the woman's sunken eyes, his heart breaking for her. "She's delirious. They must have been depriving her of food and water." His best guess was that they had tossed her here and abandoned her altogether. His fingers dug into his palms, and his mind began to taunt him with "if only" suppositions, but he blocked them out. No use regretting what had already happened.

"I'll go look for some water." Tarrlok turned and began to run down the hallway.

Beside him, Asami unbuckled her mask and stretched a hand into the cell. "Councillor Midori, it's me. Asami Sato. We're here to rescue you." Midori's eyes twitched between them, feral.

"I don't want to go with you," said the Councillor, her voice high-pitched, frenzied.

Amon held up his light to examine the lock. "You'll feel better when you're nourished. We'll talk this through, and you'll see that I'm still the same man you always knew. But first, we have to get you out of here." His finger traced the keyhole. This was going to be a difficult one to unlock. "Where is Korra?" he asked as he rustled through his bag for his lock pick set.

"I haven't seen her since they overwhelmed us." The words ended in a coughing fit, and then a sob; at the sound, pain gripped Amon's heart, twisted it.

"It's okay, Councillor," said Asami. "We're going to get you out of here."

As she continued to soothe Midori, Amon lifted his mask, clenched his light between his teeth and inserted the picks into the lock. He felt for the pins. This was going to take some finagling.

He almost had the last tumbler in place when Tarrlok's voice startled him into dropping the picks. "I found some water."

Amon turned to chastise him for startling them, but stopped. In Tarrlok's hand was a small lamp, only a bit bigger than the one Asami had given Amon.

"Where did you get that?" asked Amon.

Tarrlok held up two water canisters. "I found them in a kitchen area, where-"

"The lamp."

"Oh." He glanced at it and shrugged. "I made it."

"You made it?" Amon squinted at the ex-Councillor, sizing him up. "I thought you didn't have any technical skills."

With a smirk, Tarrlok said, "I thought you would have had plenty of intelligence on me from your Equalist days, Amon. Surely you remember that my studies weren't originally in politics."

Amon combed his memory, and his jaw tightened. Engineering. "And yet you were too lazy to help Miss Sato work on your weapon?"

Quickly stepping between them, Asami said, "Keep focused, boys." She snatched a water canister from Tarrlok and tossed it between the bars so that it landed neatly by Midori. "Councillor, please drink a bit of this. Not too much."

Remembering the task at hand, Amon turned back to the lock. It took several tries, but soon the lock clicked. The instant the knob gave, he threw open the door and rushed into the cell, kneeling beside Midori. Her eyes widened and she shrank from him, clutching the water canister as if hiding behind it.

"Please, Midori," he whispered. "I'm here to help you." He held out his hand, as if placating a timid animal.

"I don't trust you," she said, a dagger in his chest.

His patience snapped. Standing, he yanked his mask back into place. "Then I need to find Korra." He turned and marched from the cell, pushing past Asami.

"We need to get you out of here," he heard Asami say to Midori, but he continued to press forward. Tarrlok called his name, but he ignored him.

He ran without direction, wracking his memory. There had to be somewhere else to keep a fully-realized Avatar. Panic swirled in his chest now, every muscle in his body vibrating. So close, but still out of his reach.

_Platinum._

The word almost brought him to a full stop. Platinum. The one element no bender could bend. He took a sharp right, sprinting: the vault. They had specifically built the vault room out of platinum so no benders could open it by force.

His vision clouded, red, as he sprinted toward the vault. At the end of the hallway, he saw light. Heard voices.

He exploded into the vault room, squinting against the bright lights. The guards leaped to their feet, eyes wide. They had been sitting in a circle, playing cards. The perfect formation for him to take them out.

Amon vaulted to the centre of the table and spun, hands jabbing at his foes. Three fell backwards, bending disabled. He heard curses and yells, but did not slow, whirling and stabbing. Water flew at his head; he swung low to evade and took out two more, still spinning, still jabbing, pressing the attack. Seven down now. Eight. Nine. One of his foes tried to bring ice shards down on his head; with dizzying speed, Amon backflipped off the table and crouched, the shards flying safely over his body.

He stood, assessing the damage. Ten guards, all but one disabled.

"Shit!" yelled the one who still had her bending, and she threw a water whip at him. He ducked to the side, then swooped at her.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She threw more ice shards at him; he pirouetted out of the way, then grabbed her by the throat and dropped her to the ground, crouching over top of her.

"Where is the Avatar?" he demanded.

Her eyes narrowed, and he heard her gather phlegm in her throat.

His finger found the chi point at the back of her neck, pressing into it just enough to paralyze her. Her eyes widened with fear.

"I won't have you spitting ice shards at me," he said. "This chi point that I'm touching: do you know what it's called?" Her breaths were starting to come in gasps now. She shook her head no, her blue eyes watering.

Behind them, Amon heard the whir of electrified weapons: Tarrlok and Asami had arrived. He heard a yell and frantic footsteps, and then a zap of electricity as his allies stopped whatever attacker had been rushing at him. Without even acknowledging them, he continued:

"This is the amon chi point. If I press into it like so-" He pressed, and the guard shrieked. "-it causes paralysis and unbearable fear. An interesting thing about the amon chi point is that a chi-blocking master can press into it at just the right angle to spark the onset of an excruciating death, irreversible once it begins."

The woman's eyes squeezed shut. "She's in the vault."

"Good girl. Is she alive?"

"I don't know. Please! I was just following orders."

"Just following orders? To betray your Avatar, keep her locked away?" Amon let out a half-growl, half-roar and pressed harder on the chi point. The woman screamed.

"Amon," said Asami's voice behind him. "Let her go."

"What? Let her go?" said Tarrlok. "No. We came here to end this."

Amon's breaths came in harsh gasps behind clenched teeth. He steeled himself. One quick press, and his vengeance would begin. The gangs were the last blight on Republic City: he had the power to end it, starting with this guard. He stared into her eyes, ready to watch her die, but stopped. She had the same colouring as Korra: the same flawless dark skin, light blue eyes and silky brown hair. With her sharp nose and broad mouth, she looked a bit like him, too, like a combination of the two of them. Her jaw trembled, and a tear leaked from her eye. His vision blurred.

Hands shaking, he released her and stood.

"What are you doing?" said Tarrlok.

Amon turned to face his companions. Midori was slumped against Asami's shoulder, barely conscious; both Asami and Tarrlok had their weapons drawn. Around them, the other guards were finding their way to their feet, and they began to close in.

"Knock them out," said Amon. "We're here for Korra. Nothing else matters."

"This is a mistake," said Tarrlok, but he lashed out his whips, snagging and electrifying the nearest guard. Asami sat Midori against the wall and then charged.

Seeing that they had the battle under control, Amon ran for the vault door, so large that it took up the entire wall. The old combination didn't work, so he pressed his ear to the door and listened for telltale clicks. Nothing.

He pulled a bomb out of his satchel, jerked out the majority of the explosive material, armed it, then wired a fuse to it.

"Amon," called Tarrlok. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ignoring him, he pulled the plaster off the bottom of the bomb and stuck it to the weak point on the hinge, pressing it into place. He lit the fuse and then fell back into line with his companions, who stood among a sprawling sea of unconscious bodies.

"Did you just set a bomb in this room?" asked Asami, brows low.

"Just a small one. Brace yourself."

The bomb exploded, shaking the hall; his ears rang.

"Great," said Tarrlok, jabbing a finger into his ear. "If there was anyone else around, they know we're here now."

The explosive had successfully cracked the vault door; Amon gripped it, threw it all the way open.

At the back of a vault was a square metal cage, about Amon's height in its dimensions, a fallen figure in its centre.

"Korra!" He fumbled for the light Asami had given him and twisted it on, darting for the cage. As he reached it, strength ebbed from his legs, and he sank to a kneel, clutching the bars.

Korra lay in the centre of the cell in a dried pool of blood. Her skin was an unnatural grey, and her sunken eyes stared at nothing. Empty.

"Oh spirits, no." His heart had been punctured, and every last drop of hope was draining from it. He sagged against the bars and took a shuddering breath. "Korra." It was getting harder to force air into his tightening lungs. He stretched his arm through the bars as far as he could; his hand was barely able to reach hers. Cold and stiff. He curled his fingers around the tips of hers, calling her name over and over. Maybe the right cadence could coax the light back into her eyes.

Shadows cast over them, and he knew that his allies were hovering in the door of the vault. He couldn't bring himself to look at him. Taking several deep breaths, he said, "We have to get her out of here." His voice cracked. "She shouldn't... This isn't where she should rest."

Asami tentatively moved to stand beside him. "The entire cage has been welded shut," she said softly.

"Then we'll cut through it. We'll get her out. We have to get..." Amon's forehead pressed against the bars. "I'm sorry, my love." His fingers squeezed hers. "I'm so sorry."

Faintly, her fingers squeezed back.

His breath caught in his throat. "Her hand moved."

"What?" Asami knelt beside him, squinting at the fallen form in the cage. "Are you sure?"

Straining, his fingers barely managed to reach her wrist. Her pulse was faint and uneven, but present. "She's still alive. Oh Spirits, she's still alive." He unhooked the bag from his shoulder and set it beside him, then retrieved the herbs and the book. "We can save her. If we can revive her, she can get out of this cage. She can bend her way out."

Tarrlok approached on his left; he sat a barely-conscious Midori against the wall. "You aren't going to take those, are you?"

"I can go after her. I can find her and guide her back to her body." Amon's whole body was shaking now.

"You're the best fighter among us," said Tarrlok. "If those herbs end up disabling you – or killing you – then we're screwed."

"There's almost no one here. You can handle anyone who tries to attack." Amon unwrapped the paper, revealing the brick of oils, and set the herbs beside them. If the book had been correct, they needed to get the antidote into Korra's system before she would be able to return to her body.

"I apologize for this, Korra," he whispered, and his knuckles locked around hers. He jerked her toward him, knowing by the cracks that he might have dislocated a finger or two. It did the job. Her body slid close enough that he was able to grab her and pull her flush against the bars. He forced a sprig of the antidote herbs into her mouth. His knuckles grazed her cheek; the skin was papery and cold. As he waited, his eyes trailed down her body, assessing her injuries.

The majority of the blood originated from between her legs. A cry flew from his lips before he could stop it, and he reached both arms as far as he could into the cell, trying to hold her.

_Our child. Our family._  His chest twisted, throbbed.

"Amon," whispered Asami.

"I can't take this," he said, fumbling, frustrated that he couldn't land an embrace on Korra through the bars. "I can't... I'm going to crack. I can't take this." He had always prided himself on being impervious to emotion, but every person had a breaking point. He began to hyperventilate.

"You can do this," said Asami.

He looked at her, saw the strength in her green eyes. She gripped his shoulder to encourage him. "We've found her and we will save her. I can help. Tell me what to do."

"I'll look for tools to cut through the bars," said Tarrlok from behind them. "But I still think you're a fool for going through with this."

Amon was too busy trying to breathe to respond. He slowly released Korra's body and pulled back, looking for signs that she might be reacting to the antidote, but there was no change.

"I don't think she's coming back on her own," he said. "I'm going after her." He pulled out his pocketknife and lopped a large corner off the oils. "Wait until I am completely out," he said. "Then put a sprig of the leafy herb in my mouth."

"And then what?" asked Asami.

Amon met her gaze, but didn't have an answer for her. Instead, he lifted the oil mixture to his lips. At first, there was only a bitter taste, coating his tongue with slick oils. Amon wondered why it didn't take effect immediately, then remembered that Korra had had it intravenously. He glanced at Asami, and was surprised to see that her irises were glowing. As he tried to open his mouth to comment on it, his tingling lips wouldn't respond. He began to feel nauseated, dizzy.

Suddenly, her face melted. The world around him wavered, as if coated with a steady stream of water.

He turned back to the Avatar, clinging as tightly to her as the bars would allow.  _I am coming for you, Korra._

The taste of blood filled his mouth. His body seized as the watery shapes around him melted into a puddle and began to swirl. He heard Asami yell, felt her pin down his thrashing limbs.

Then he felt nothing as his body began to float.

One last thought surfaced in his mind:  _I will find you, my love._

He had expected violet fog, not a memory. It rose in his mind like a dream, engulfed his consciousness.

.*.*.*.

Amon had been surprised to see Korra at the base of the bluff under her window, instead of waiting for him in her room. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she wore her winter jacket. Snow drifted around her, settling in her hair like tiny feathers.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as he approached, glancing around for the Order of the White Lotus guards.

Her grin was broad and her cheeks were crimson. "Isn't it beautiful? I haven't seen snow this thick since I left the South Pole! Let's play in it."

"Play in it?" Amon glanced around at the white carpet, already nervous about the footprints he had left behind.

Korra beamed. "Race you to the cliff!" Turning, she began to run.

"What-" Amon spun on his heel and began to chase her. She was giggling loudly as she ran, heedless of any attention she might be drawing to herself. Amon couldn't help smiling at the sound. As he ran, adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

He caught up to her, and was surprised that she sped up to keep pace with him. No-one he knew could stay with him at this speed. Lowering his body, he began to full-out sprint. At first, he thought she might keep up, but then she began to flag.

"No fair – your legs are longer," she yelled behind him, and laughter bubbled up from his gut. He let his arms trail behind him as if he were flying.

Suddenly, he heard a triumphant guffaw very close behind him. He glanced back and saw that she was riding on a ball of air.

"Bending? That's not very sporting." As she burst past him, he leaped; by sheer luck, he landed behind her and managed to keep his balance on the ball, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and chest.

"Hey!" She wrestled against his grasp, trying to knock him off.

Amon stretched his arm ahead of them, his reach eclipsing hers. "You have no chance, Avatar." The immaturity of the action delighted him.

"Not fair. Your stupid arms are so freakishly long." She tried to climb forward along his arm, stretching as far as she could. He quickly poked her back, and her arm fell limp.

"Chi-blocking, Amon? Really?"

"If you can use bending, then I can use chi-blocking."

Korra swore and extended her other arm, still trying to stretch further than him. The cliff was approaching, and Amon felt her begin to tense. She was going to jump ahead. He grinned, knowing that his jump was further than hers.

Suddenly, she lost her balance and fell forward.

On reflex, Amon gripped her by the waist and jerked her upright, but she lost control of the air ball.

They twisted, then the ball dissipated. A tree trunk engulfed Amon's vision.

Then, blackness.

He awoke to Korra holding glowing hands over his face, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. Groaning, he clutched his aching head and sat up.

"Ouch," he said.

"Oh, Amon, I'm so sorry." She lunged for him, burying her face in his chest. Snow was still falling around them, and when he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, snow melted on his chin.

"I think we both got a little rowdy," he said, trying not to show his annoyance.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, holding him close. "I'm sorry. I used bending to heal you-"

He cut her off: "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Leaning in so sweetly he felt a smile tug at his lips, she said, "I could kiss it better."

"That might help."

"Where does it hurt?" she asked, eyes bright.

He pointed to the top of his head, and she pressed a gentle kiss to it, so sweet and childlike that his mood softened. "And a little here." He tapped his temple, and she kissed it.

"I'm pretty sure I saw that your lips were sore, too," she said. Her skin was dark and flushed against the bright white landscape, her eyes reflecting the full moon.

"Very sore," he agreed, and she kissed him so deeply that he sank back into the snow beneath her weight. When she pulled away, there were clouds of air between them. Snow caught in her eyelashes; he smiled and brushed then aside.

"Feel better now?" she asked.

"I'm also a bit sore here." When he pointed, her eyelids drooped, unimpressed.

"You don't really want me taking that out in the cold, do you?"

"I don't think the temperature is a concern – your mouth is very warm."

"Well, you'll have to be patient. I want to enjoy the weather for a bit first. Spirits know I've missed proper winters." She flopped beside him, a smile on her face as her gloved hand found his. Together, they stared up at the blanketed sky, the puffs of their breaths rising and dissipating among the falling flakes. Though the snow held him in a chill embrace, Amon's body glowed with warmth. He loved that she encouraged him to act like a child. His childhood had been far too short.

"Do normal people ever see flashes of their past lives?" she asked suddenly.

He tilted his head to cast her an amused glance. While the Avatar had a reputation for being headstrong and physical, he loved her non-sequiturs. He had always seen curiosity as a sign of intelligence. They had shared some intriguing philosophical conversations on occasion due to her random questions, and this looked to be another one.

"I get flashes of my past lives all the time," she said. "Mostly from Aang, sometimes from Roku. I just wondered if that was normal, or if it's another one of those ways I'm different."

He rolled onto his side. "Nothing about you is normal, Korra."

"I'm serious, Amon – do you really have no idea about your past lives?"

"No. I assume they're somehow related to yours, since I subscribe to the belief that souls are tied across generations. So I'm sure that in the past, I have been the Avatar's lover. Or best friend. Or family member."

"Family member?" She sat up, snow falling from her jacket in chunks. "What?" Her mouth was open, horrified.

He winced at her reaction. "We wouldn't always reincarnate as lovers. It's impossible for our life cycles to line up perfectly each time: gender and age will come into play. We are always critically important in each other's lives, somehow. There are many forms of love."

"But I have the ability to remember my past lives. To think that you might have once been my son, or my mother..." She shuddered.

"I suppose your situation gives you a unique perspective on it. I did not mean for my philosophies to disturb you. Personally, I find it comforting to know that generation after generation, I have been and will always be by your side."

"But family? Not sure how I feel about kissing that last sore spot of yours now." She slung a skiff of snow into his face. He sputtered, sitting up, his face tingling with the chill; he scooped a handful of snow to retaliate, then stopped at Korra's raised brow.

"Are you sure you want to try that?" she asked. "Attacking a waterbender with her own element?"

"Typical bender oppression." He let the snow sift between his fingers.

"I bet you were a lot less uptight about bending in your past lives." She lay back again, snuggling closer to him. The clouds were beginning to thin, and the full moon showed through the clouds, barely visible amidst the sea of white. Amon closed his eyes, feeling all tension leave his muscles, save for his ears, always strained for the sound of footsteps.

"Sometimes I think about how there must be a past life where we were married," she said. "A house. Children. A wedding that was celebrated across the land. The two of us revered like royalty, our love giving others hope."

He wrapped his mind in the thought, snuggling into it like a blanket. "Does that thought make you happy?"

"Yes." Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "But I envy them."

"One day, Korra," he started, but his eyes flew open. They both knew there was nothing he could promise. Instead, he said, "One day, I hope we can find a way to have some of that in this life." That, at least, was true.

The words, vague as they were, seemed to please her, because she gave him a broad, blushing smile. "Maybe it can happen yet, Amon. We are still young. There is always time." She stood and held out her hand. "You're shivering. Let's get you somewhere warm."

He clasped her hand and stood, then squeezed her so tightly against him that she gasped. His face buried into her hair, damp and cold with the snow, but warming with his breath.

"I am warmest wherever you are," he whispered, and then the memory faded.

.*.*.*.

His soul glowed with so much heat that he knew she was near.

A chorus of voices reverberated through his mind:

"There can be no love of another without love of self. There can be no love of self without knowledge of oneself. There can be no knowledge of oneself without isolating oneself from all other influence. The most corrupting influence is one's own delusions about who one is. It is time for you to learn, little one. And at the end, you will be judged by your harshest critic: yourself."

Amon did not open his eyes. "I know who I am."

"You do not," said the voice. "You have changed masks so often that you have forgotten your true face."

"I am Amon."

"Are you sure you know who you really are? You will not be able to find her if you are wrong. You will not be able to find your way back."

His teeth clenched. "I am Amon, spirits, and I will find her."

"We shall see. Open your eyes, and your search will begin."

Amon's eyelids parted. The world around him was filled with violet fog, and two pillars of light, one red and one white, glowed in the distance.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: scenes of violence that may be disturbing, and dicussion of potential miscarriage/blood.

**XII**

**Fall in Violet**

Amon stared at the two glowing pillars in the distance, recognition and hope seeping through him in tandem. If he had found Korra before without the aid of oils, then he would be able to do so again with the oils on his side.

"Korra," he called, sloshing forward through the mist. His hands cupped over the mouth of his mask. "Korra, answer me." He tried to move toward the white pillar, but he found himself repulsed by increasing resistance, like a magnetic charge; it raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.

"You won't reach her like that," said his own voice behind him.

Amon whirled. Standing behind him with its arms folded over his chest was a spirit vision of himself; it wore the spirit's mask he had shattered, and his iconic grey tunic and hood from the days of the revolution, shoulders thrown back and chin high. His old propaganda come to life.

"You are me?" he asked the spirit.

"I am but a fraction of you," replied the other. "Here, your soul is an amalgamation of all your lives."

When Amon looked down at himself, he saw that his entire body was flickering. Different shapes and sizes and armour and clothing and skin tones scrolled past, so quickly that he couldn't register any of them. For the first time since had taken the oils, his confidence began to wane. "I don't understand."

"Remember the book that Feng gave you," said spirit-Amon. "The oils were used for a journey of self-discovery. This could not have come at a more critical time for you, little one, and I am glad you are here. Like the monks of old, you will face a series of trials to learn more about yourself. At each one, you will be judged by your most critical opponent: yourself."

"You mean, by you," said Amon. "Aren't you just my guardian spirit in another form?"

"I am," it said. "But I am the personification of yourself as well. All your self-doubt, self-hatred, your ambitions. These are the standards to which you will be held."

"You manipulated me," he said, stepping closer to the apparition. "You used me to try to hurt the Avatar, and you will use me again."

Spirit-Amon held out his hands, defensive. "I told you, little one: I am but an ambassador. There are many spirits I represent, and not all wish to harm the Avatar. You are a mortal, so you cannot easily communicate with them the way the Avatar can: that is why they speak through me. It is simpler for all involved." It leaned closer, the smirk of the mask unnerving. "You sought us out this time, and so we will guide you through these trials of old. I promise you, the standards you are held to will be your own, not ours. The only manipulation you will face will be your own."

Amon thought back to his past and wondered if facing his own manipulation might be an even worse fate than spirit trickery.

"And by going through these trials," he said, "I will find Korra?"

The spirit version of himself nodded. "Your fates are intertwined, little one. More than you know, and not in the way you think. Just as she is discovering the truth about herself, so will you discover your own truths. At the end, it will be up to the two of you to decide how to proceed. This may help you grow, or it may break you."

Amon stood tall, flexed his shoulders – they flickered, changing size and shape and weight, the changes feeling like strong wing beats against his muscles. "Let us begin."

_I am Amon,_  he told himself.  _I will not lose my way like the monks of old. I am Amon._ He repeated the three words like a mantra.

The fog before him parted, and a glowing red path snaked before him. Spirit-Amon held out its hand, and Amon took it. He could walk easily on this path, with none of the resistance he had encountered before.

The path ended at a small wooden farmhouse with a thatch roof, and nostalgia warmed Amon's chest. It was smaller than he remembered, its colours hyper-saturated. The walls swam, no doubt a result of the hallucinogenic oils. Briefly, he wondered what his body was doing back in the conscious world – was it slumped and grey, like Korra's?

"Watch," said his spirit self.

His mother stepped out of the house, as beautiful as he remembered, though now he saw how young she truly was, possibly even younger than Korra. Her stomach was swollen with child. As she slumped against the house and slid to sit on the dirt, her face crumpled and she began to weep.

Amon's heart twisted. He stepped closer, wrestling with an overwhelming urge to comfort her.

Her hand stretched out and formed a cup. A small flame sparked to life in her palm, and she began to weep harder.

Amon's eyes widened. "My mother was a firebender?" he asked, but his spirit self did not respond.

A man stepped outside the house. His father. His brows hooded his eyes and his lips were twisted. He slammed the door behind him and slumped to a seat by his wife, his eyes locked on her stomach.

"Let me see it," he said.

"It will heal."

"Otzana, let me see it." He gripped the bottom of her shirt and, when she didn't protest, lifted it, revealing her belly. A burn scored most of the flesh, blistered and raw. Amon growled and started forward, but his feet were rooted in place.

His father let out a pained yell and leaped to his feet, clenched hands shaking. "I'll kill him!"

"I already did." Her voice was soft she stared into the tiny flame in her palm.

His father whirled to face her, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"He was going to kill me, Zoran. He was going to kill our child. I burnt him alive, right in front of me." Her fist curled around the flame in her palm, snuffing it. "I felt nothing. My own brother, and I felt nothing."

"He was a monster," growled his father.

She nodded. "He was." Her face twisted. "Bending is a curse. Bending is what made him the way he is."

Zoran shook his head no and knelt in front of her, his hands cupping her outstretched fist. "My love, you are a bender, and you are the light of my life."

"I am no bender." She jerked her hand from his grasp. "No longer. I am no better than he was. I killed a man. My own flesh and blood."

Her husband studied her; Amon could see wrinkles along his brow. "The bullying isn't going to stop, Otzana. Even if we can stay them for now, they will always hold this over us. Maybe for months. Years." Tentatively, he placed a hand on her knee. "I want you to be there to defend us. And if our child is a bender-"

"No," she snapped, curling protectively around our abdomen. "Our child will be a non-bender. No matter what. Our child will grow up knowing the truth about bending: that it corrupts. That it turns family against family."

The vision began to flicker.

Amon stared down at his hands, and for a moment, the flickering stilled, and he saw them as they existed in the waking world. His fingers traced the bolt-shaped scars. "Spirit, are you showing me the truth?"

His spirit-self nodded. "The seeds of anti-bender sentiment were planted within you before you even sprouted from the ground, little one. And in spite of your mother's desires, the time did arise when you discovered that you were a bender. Watch."

"Wait," said Amon. "There is no need to show me that memory; it has torn me from sleep every night ever since."

"Yet there is more to that memory than you know," said the spirit.

The farmhouse fell into focus again, but this time he saw his child self firebend at his father's attackers. The flames engulfed the gang member in front of him, charred him to death. The stench of burnt flesh choked his mouth, stung his eyes.

"Oh spirits, no," said his father.

"Leave none alive!" yelled the leader, and he threw a punch at young Amon's head.

He saw his child-self collapse, unconscious.

"Monster!" roared his mother, jumping forward. Her fists thrust in front of her, and an enormous fire bolt shot at the leader. She pressed forward, tears streaming down her face, hair in her eyes, thrusting bolt after bolt of fire. The man yelled and threw up a shield of flame, barely able to withstand her assault.

With a howl, Otzana gathered a burst of energy and thrust, her entire body following through the motion. Lightning sparked from her extended hands and slammed into the leader. His flame shield managed to block some of it, but some slipped through, and he dropped to the ground, writhing.

"Otzana," yelled his father. "Behind you!"

She whirled in time to see the third gang member running into the house. A shriek of fury left her lips as she thrust her hands forward.

A bolt of flame missed the attacker. It caught the open wooden door instead and began to lick toward the roof.

"No!" She thrust her hands forward and down, trying to pull the flames off the house, but the dry thatch roof went up in flames. "Zilla!" She ran into the burning house, nearly ramming into the fleeing gang member as they passed each other.

Her husband ran after her, screaming her name.

On the ground, the leader sat up and clutched his head. With a growl, he stormed to child-Amon's unconscious body, then picked him up by the throat. He tossed the limp form through the doorway and slammed the door behind him.

"They can burn together."

Watching the scene play out, Amon felt his body shake uncontrollably. He had wrestled with these memories for so long that he had almost managed to move past them, but seeing all that had played out while he was unconscious added a fresh coat of paint to the dulling nightmares.

The scene changed, and suddenly he was inside the house. He saw his mother run for the baby Zilla, then grab her from the crib and sprint for the exit, but falling debris pinned her to the floor. He saw his father lunge for child-Amon's unconscious body, protecting it from debris. Wave after wave of flaming wood and thatch engulfed the man's body, but still he refused to leave his son unshielded. Amon saw himself wake up, stare at his father's dead body...

His eyes closed. "Stop. I know the rest of this."

He could still hear the crackling flames, taste the smoke, hear his mother's screams.

"Stop," he said, louder.

There was silence. Slowly, his hands unclenched, and he lifted his head.

Spirit-Amon stared placidly at him, eyes perfectly neutral. Revulsion filled his throat. Was this how infuriating he had been when facing down his enemies, cold and uncaring in the face of their hell?

"Whose fault was that incident?" asked his spirit-self.

"Mine," said Amon automatically. "This is not a surprising revelation, spirit. I gave into my anger and used bending and incited the whole attack. This has weighed upon me ever since."

"No," said the spirit. "Whose fault was it?"

He hesitated. "The attackers," he said, hoping that was correct. It would be relieving to let go of twenty-odd years of guilt.

"No," said the spirit. "Whose fault was it?"

Amon's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for your mind games, spirit. I am here for Korra."

"And you will not reach her until you understand yourself." The mask leaned close to his own. "How would you describe what your mother did in the vision you just saw?"

"She tried to fight against oppressive benders," said Amon. "But she lost control."

"And why did that happen?"

"Because bending is dangerous."

"No." Spirit-Amon clasped its hands behind its back. "Because she ignored her own power, and tried to keep yours from you. If she had embraced her bending, kept up her practice, she would have been able to control it. If she had subsequently taught you to bend instead of ignoring your abilities, you would not have killed every time you tried to use it. You both tried to suppress your bending, tried to deny it, but if you try to suppress a part of yourself without first acknowledging it, without respecting it, then it will slowly consume you. Eat away at you. Control you."

"And yet, when you rescued me, you told me never to use my bending again," said Amon. "That bending was evil."

"Did I?" The spirit's head tilted. "You were told never to  _abuse_  your bending again, that bending was  _out of balance_. You corrupted the words, laced them with your own meaning, viewing them through the anti-bending lens with which you were raised."

Amon scarred fists clenched. The words swirled through his head and he swayed, off kilter.

"Ultimately, the attack was your mother's fault." The spirit flickered in front of him. "And it sent you down the wrong path, by teaching you the false lesson that all bending is evil. Your task was always to fix the balance, not eradicate bending entirely."

"This isn't true. You watched them die. You let them die and rescued me to fill your own twisted goals of crippling the Avatar."

"We miscalculated," said the spirit. "We thought your mind was young enough that your mother's attitude would not have corrupted your own."

The fog ahead of them parted, and red light formed a path before them.

"Shall we?" asked spirit-Amon.

Amon's eyes narrowed. "I am here to find Korra."

"You are here to find yourself. Come."

Begrudgingly, Amon fell into step behind the spirit.

Already, he couldn't remember how he had gotten here. It was as if the memories of his arrival were just out of his reach, hidden in violet fog.  _I am Amon. I am Amon..._

_.*.*.*._

Still unsure of her identity, Korra followed her spirit-self to the end of the blue-white path, and the fog parted. Standing before her were a row of warriors, their skin and hair slate-grey, their eyes glowing white. She could sense that they were from different eras, though they all moved in unison, executing a pattern that looked like a combination of earthbending and airbending.

"What are these beings?" she asked.

Her guardian spirit crouched beside her. "The first several generations of the Avatar, laid out side-by-side for you to see at once. These are the parts of your soul so ancient, they have been lost to you."

She squinted at them. "They don't look human."

"They weren't. Not quite." Her spirit self looked up at her. "Have you ever wondered why you, as the incarnation of the planet spirit, need to master the elements one at a time instead of immediately possessing all four?"

Korra shook her head. "Not really. It's just tradition."

Spirit-Korra gestured to the warriors. "Originally, the Avatar had full control of all four elements from birth."

"That would have saved me some hassle," said Korra, vaguely remembering that she had struggled with one of the elements, but not remembering which one.

"No, Avatar. It is necessary. The human form is a double-edged sword. It comes along with the traits that allowed humans to rise as the dominate species: drive, lust for improvement, the desire to evolve. These traits, when harnessed, can lead a person to achieve great things for themselves and humanity. A person who is sympathetic toward others will use their power in a way that benefits everyone. But a person who does not see others as equals will be corrupted by a sense of entitlement. A combination of power and entitlement will often result in tyranny.

"For, you see, the original Avatars had powers far stronger than any human: the disparity between them and the people around them was so great that human life had no value, no meaning. They considered snuffing a human life to be the same as crushing a buzzing insect. Watch."

All at once, five scenes began to play: Avatars destroying villages, homes. Burning them to the ground. People dying, crushed by ice and rock, burnt alive by fire, flayed by wind. She saw flickers of Avatars with crazed grins on their faces.

"No," said Korra softly, the scenes scrolling before her eyes. "The Avatar protects the planet and all those who live on it."

"That was the intent, yes. And that is why the most powerful spirits banded together to limit your power, to grow it over time instead of giving it to you all at once: this allowed the human restraints of love, duty and compassion to flourish with your powers. In order to force you to bond with humans, you were born to a human family, then forced to learn bending one element at a time, immersing yourself in the culture of each of the four nations. This gave you the opportunity to see their denizens as a collection of humans instead of a faceless mass. Without this human connection, without this carefully nurtured respect, the temptation to dominate is far too great to resist.

"Furthermore, you were given access to your old lives, so that you might learn from their mistakes, and also remember their lovers, their family, their friends. Your connection to the people of the world is generations old, dissuading you from going mad with power."

The vision before Korra flickered, then faded, leaving behind soothing violet fog.

Her spirit-self continued: "But there are some old spirits and souls who feel this is not enough, for they remember your misdeeds with a bitterness that has festered over the centuries. They fear this ancient violence, this disregard for life, that is in your history. And so, each generation, they seek a counterbalance to limit you. These counterbalances have great skills as benders, as leaders. And so it has happened many times throughout the centuries: the counterbalances are your foil. "

An image rose before them: a waterbender Avatar, his eyes glowing white, crashing a tsunami down on an island. Korra felt the anger flow through her, remembered everything about the moment except for the Avatar's name – why were names not at her disposal?

Charging at the corrupt Avatar from the fray was an airbender who was somehow familiar, her eyes narrow, spinning her staff before her as she flew at him. She slammed her staff into him and knocked him from his water spout, pursuing him as he fell.

The vision faded.

"But power in all forms corrupts," said the spirit, "and this counterbalance has, throughout history, fallen sway to tyranny. The counterbalance, unlike you, has no past selves to give counsel: the rise to power is a new experience each generation, and so they make the same mistakes each lifetime. While true balance would be achieved through harmony, you and the counterbalance fall to enmity, generation after generation. And so, true balance has not yet been achieved. Power has wavered between you and your opponent, never striking equilibrium."

"I don't need balance," said Korra. "I have the best interest of my people at heart. Always. Even without my memories, I know this to be true."

Her spirit-self gave her a humourless smile. "Perhaps it is time for you to examine your own lifetime more closely."

_.*.*.*._

The path before Amon ended, and he braced himself for the next trial, still disoriented from the prior one. The fog parted in front of him to reveal a grassy meadow. He recognized himself as a teenager, gangly limbs and broadening shoulders, running through the grass. In tow was his first girlfriend, Jana. They both wore the green-and-black robes of the warrior apprentices, a gold broach at the throat in the shape of an upside-down "U": a stylized fan, the same shape that encircled the red circle on his masked forehead. The two young lovers fell to the grass and rolled, landing with his teenaged self on top of her. His voice squeaked as he laughed; the transition from child to adult voice had been particularly difficult for him, a large margin of error between the alto and the baritone tones.

Her brazen laugh echoed his, filling the air. Her curious brown eyes, just a touch too close together, but still vibrant, focused on his teenaged self with admiration. Amon felt himself smile. She had been the first person to treat him as a human, to look past the mask and hood and see that there was a boy beneath them, even though she never did see his face.

Pressing the girl into the grass, he lifted his mask just enough to reveal his mouth and smacked a kiss to her lips – it embarrassed Amon now to see the messy, frantic gesture. Jana didn't seem to mind; she giggled and plucked a nearby wildflower, tucking it into his collar. Her fingers traced the mottled skin of his narrow jaw.

"I want you to touch my chest, Amon."

"Really?" his squeaky-voiced self said.

Watching the scene play out, Amon cringed. "Is this really necessary?" he asked his spirit self. He couldn't fathom what lesson he was supposed to take away from his inexperienced blundering.

"Patience," said the spirit.

His teenaged self's hand slid eagerly over Jana's clothes, clamping so tightly onto her that she yelped. He jerked away. "Sorry, I-"

"No, no. It's okay, it's just- Just, a little more gently, please." They stared at each other, her face completely red.

In the background, Amon saw a man approaching them, slipping through the tall grasses as if they were water. "The mugger." The memory fell into place, and his muscles tensed.

"Here," said Jana, and she entwined their fingers to guide her lover's movements. She gave a purr and arched, her arms and legs stretching with delight.

Amon watched his younger self crawl on top of her, oblivious to the approaching attacker. "Focus on your surroundings, you horny brat," he hissed, even though he knew exactly how the scene would play out.

Their attacker stopped ten feet away from them and lowered himself into stance. He stomped.

Earth manacles snapped around Jana's outstretched limbs, pinning her to the ground. She shrieked. Young Amon sat up, alarmed. Their attacker sprang from the grasses, and an improvised knife of jagged stone pressed to the boy's throat as the attacker jerked him off of the girl. He yelled, flailing.

"All your money," said the attacker. "And all of hers."

"I don't have any money."

The man ripped the gold symbol off of young Amon's throat and threw the boy aside, then lunged for the girl on the ground, reaching for her symbol as well. Jana spat at him; the attacker dodged and growled, his fingers wrapping around her throat. "Seems your girl needs to be taught some manners."

Young Amon howled. He charged at the man's back and stabbed his fingers into the exposed flank, his movements sluggish and clumsy with battle inexperience. He missed the crucial chi points. The man dodged, counterattacking with a block of earth; the boy spun to avoid it, the motion flattening the grass around them in a circle.

_Airbending. How did I never see it before?_

The boy dove for the man again, this time clamping a hand on the back of the man's neck. The amon chi point. Watching now, Amon was amazed that he hadn't accidentally pressed too hard and killed him.

The man dropped to his knees, eyes wide with fear.

"Free her," commanded young Amon, hunched over him, breathing hard. The man's arms waved, and the manacles fell away from Jana. She sat up and scurried backwards.

"You have misused your bending to harm an innocent," said the boy. "This will not stand."

Even now, Amon could recall every nuance of his emotions in that moment. The flood of wisdom as he instinctively raised two fingers to the sky. The tingling rush through his arm, the power of the spirits flooding his being. The hot point of energy gathering in his thumb. The slight hesitation as he wondered where to place it, then the inspiration as he sought the light chakra on the forehead. The place where his guardian spirit had touched him. The place his chi-blocking instructors had called to his attention:  _the_ _re is no greater illusion than separation._

His thumb thrust down, separating the bender from his bending. He felt the ability in the man's soul, felt himself reach deep inside and grip it, and ripped it out.

The man's eyes widened, and as he fell forward, Amon recalled the rush of power that had overwhelmed him. A dizzying rush, like orgasm.

Jana was staring at him. "Amon – your mask."

Two gold wings now flanked the jaw of his mask: a grip, like the ethereal one he had formed deep in the man's soul.

The vision dissipated.

"That rush of power," said spirit-Amon. "That was never meant to be a part of your gifts. That was your own corruption, your lust for power."

"The man deserved it."

"Did he?" The masked face loomed in his vision. "You were given your gifts to restore balance. Sometimes that means taking bending away, yes, but not always. The man's actions were abhorrent, but do you really think he deserved to have his bending removed entirely?"

Amon was silent.

"You miss this ability."

"I do," admitted Amon.

"Because you miss the rush of power."

"No," said Amon. "Because I miss being able to exact justice on those who misuse their bending."

The spirit version of himself watched, eyes placid. Defensiveness rose in Amon's throat and tightened his voice. "What lesson are you driving at, spirit?"

"You know, deep down, that you enjoyed the power of it. You know, deep down, that what you miss most is the ability to evoke fear in others. That is why you have donned your new mask, and why you have a satchel full of bombs at your side in the material world." The masked face tilted. "Your task was to empower non-benders and to weed out the few who did not deserve their gifts. Your ability to strip bending was intended as a last resort, one you began to worship as a first resort instead."

Amon's eyes closed. He saw himself attempt to take the powers of all the Triple Threat Triads he could get his hands on, way back at the Revelation – even Korra's friend Bolin, a gentle boy who had been mixed up with them out of desperation, who could never hurt anyone if his life depended on it. He saw himself indiscriminately taking the bending of the Red Monsoons during their strike on the gang, without even knowing the backgrounds of those he had taken.

"Avatar Aang used his ability to energybend exactly twice," said his spirit self. "Once on Firelord Ozai, once on Yakone. Avatar Korra used it only once, against Tarrlok. How often did you abuse it? How often did you enjoy it?"

Amon's jaw trembled. "I should have focused more time on empowering non-benders, not oppressing benders. I had it all backwards."

His spirit self nodded, and the fog parted again. A red trail formed before them.

Amon stepped forward, his mind heavy with contemplation. He hadn't expected these trials to be so disorienting – his head was spinning with questions and self-doubt.

It was okay, he told himself. Each step forward was one step closer to finding...

To finding someone.

"Spirit," he said. "I can't remember." Why was that phrase familiar?

"Sometimes," said his spirit self, "we have to let go of who we think we are in order to find who we truly are."

Suspicious, Amon wracked his memory.  _I am Amon. I am..._

The name faded from his mind, and he stared at the red path before him, confused.

.*.*.*.

The white trail ended, and Korra stared at the scene before them. An office, with a wall made of swirling water. She vaguely remembered the man sitting at the desk: water tribe, with long, handsome features and a permanent self-satisfied expression. Beside him was an assistant, the two of them working on paperwork.

An explosion to Korra's right made her jump: a woman smashed a hole through the wall and stepped into the office, hunched and breathing hard. Korra glanced between the woman and her spirit guide, seeing that they were identical.

"Is that me?" she whispered, not recognizing the twisted lips and furrowed brows. Pure, base rage.

"It is," said her spirit-self.

Korra chewed her lip as the woman in the vision hollered at the man – Tarrlok, she realized – who then dismissed his aide. She could see the tempers rising in both of them, bubbling beyond control.

The man threw the first strike, and suddenly they were locked in full-out battle. Korra couldn't picture a reasonable end goal for either of them; they fought without purpose, machines of rage and frustration. She knocked him through a wall, left him dangling off of a balcony.

"Help him," she whispered to the woman in the vision. "Stop this madness."

Instead, she blew him off the ledge.

Korra stopped breathing as she watched a wounded Tarrlok scramble away on all fours, terrified. The Korra in the vision charged him down, first with a wave of earth, then with flame. She felt Tarrlok's fear beating in her own chest. What chance did he have? He was injured, cut off from his element, defenseless. In that moment, she knew, as he knew, that he was going to die.

When he used bloodbending to stop the attack, she began to breathe again.

Korra stared at the scene as it dissipated into fog. "I was going to kill him." She squinted, trying to reach the memories that were just out of her grasp. "Why? He did something awful, I know, but I can't remember what."

Her spirit self's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "You were confronting him for misusing his bending to oppress others. Because he bullied others into complacency."

"So I did the same thing to him?"

"It was on a much smaller scale than his transgressions," said spirit-Korra. "But it is important for you to understand: this anger, this corruption by power, is within you. You are not so different from your enemies."

Memories flooded Korra's mind, and now she looked at them with fresh eyes. Her first day in Republic City, heedlessly destroying shops – their owners' livelihoods – in her exuberance battling the Triple Threat Triad members. The lie she told herself:  _I want to help protect the weak_. Now she saw that wasn't true: she wanted to show off, to have people respect her and fear her. It didn't stop there: she saw herself wasting time in the Pro-bending arena, seeking glory and fame, when she should have been training with Tenzin to defeat Amon.

Amon.

A vision of the Equalist leader wavered into view in front of her, a still portrait, microphone in one hand and the other outstretched, just as she had seen him for the first time. How small she had felt as she watched him address the crowd, saw them cheer and holler as he decried all that she stood for. Ice crawled down her spine at the memory, even as her heart began to race at the sight of him.

"Now here is an interesting one," said spirit-Korra. "A man with ambitions that were in direct conflict with your own. A man with the strength, skills and leadership to stand up to you. To challenge you."

Two ideas knit together in her mind: "The counterbalance you spoke of before – Amon is my counterbalance, isn't he?"

"Indeed. The yin to your yang. This time, the spirits thought they had it right. With your powers split between you, neither of you was supposed to fall to corruption. Two complementing halves: you empowering benders, he empowering non-benders, working together to bring balance."

"And we do," she said, memories sifting back into her mind. Her hand reached through the apparition before her, trying to lace her fingers with his. "We work together on the Council, to empower and balance."

When there was no response, she turned. Her spirit self was watching her, its expression neutral.

"What?" asked Korra.

"How well do you two actually see eye-to-eye?"

A little defensive, Korra said, "I know Amon better than I know almost anyone. We've been in a relationship for a solid year, and we see each other nearly every night."

"You understand him?"

"Of course!"

Spirit-Korra's face was maddeningly placid. "So you understand why he took away the bending of hundreds of benders? You understand why he still hates bending? You understand why he so passionately believes that chi-blocking is important for non-benders to learn, why he still feels that benders are over-privileged and entitled?"

"We've put all that aside," she said hesitantly, but she began to doubt her own words. In the beginning of their relationship, there had been an explosive fight about bending, and then they hadn't so much as mentioned it again until she had told him she might be pregnant.

"You ignore the parts of him that you don't understand?" asked spirit-Korra.

"Yes, and I'll keep doing it. Forever." Even as she said the word, she knew it was impossible. Her fists clenched, but she was surprised to discover that instead of being angry with the spirit, she was furious with Amon. "It makes no sense, spirit. Bending has done so much for him, has saved his life so many times. He was using airbending most of his life, and even used firebending twice, so it's hypocritical of him to hate it. And I'm bending incarnate – how can he possibly dismiss that aspect of me?"

"Have you ever taken the time to listen to his reasons for hating bending?"

"Of course," snapped Korra. He had lectured her about them in full detail during their fight when he first returned to the city.

The blue gaze was so intense that she had to look down. "I did not ask if he tells you, young Avatar, but if you listen."

Sullen, she refused to answer. The correct answer made her ashamed.

"How then," asked the spirit, "can you begrudge him for not listening to your point of view, when you won't listen to his?"

"I don't want anything to change," said Korra. "We're so alike in so many ways, but our differences seem so insurmountable. It's easier to ignore them. What if we try to talk through them and can't resolve them?"

"It's easier to ignore all that challenges us, but we should be striving toward it. Embracing it. The more challenging a lesson, the more potential it has to shape us."

Korra shook her head no, her throat tightening. "You don't understand, spirit, because your kind doesn't understand the concept of human love. But I can't bear to lose him. Even if that means a lifetime of holding my tongue."

"Denial is dangerous, Avatar. It erodes, corrupts. By denying all that your counterbalance has to teach you, you have made a selfish choice. You have put your own base needs ahead of the world's without dealing with any of the ramifications." The spirit leaned closer, somehow looming even though they were the same height. "The consequences for the world will be dire."

"What do you mean?" asked Korra, her pulse suddenly racing.

"You will see," said the spirit. "He is almost ready to join you."

.*.*.*.

Amon blindly followed his guardian down the red path to the next vision. As it spread before him, he saw several different faces, several lifetimes, floating together like ghostly portraits. Looking down at his own body – it was flickering again between different shapes and colours – he saw glimpses of them echoed in himself. "My past lives?"

"A few of them," said his spirit-self, nodding. "There are many, but these are the best examples. Do you recognize them?"

Amon stared at them, feeling the blood drain from his face. "General Kanak," he said. "Chin the Conqueror. Firelord Zerika. Firelord Sozin." He glanced at his spirit guardian. "There must be a mistake, spirit: these are among the greatest enemies known to history."

"They are," said the spirit. "What is one thing they all have in common?"

Amon studied them. "They all attacked or betrayed the Avatar." Something flickered within himself at the word: the Avatar. He was here because of the Avatar.

"Correct. Each generation, little one, you have been a fearsome leader. One who has sought to counterbalance the Avatar, to bring balance to the world when the Avatar fails or is corrupted." His spirit self shook its head. "Unfortunately, you are human. Your gifts, your ambitions, leave you easily corruptible yourself, and so you have only served to worsen the balance. The spirits I represent thought that perhaps you would not fall to the same fate if you possessed a portion of the Avatar Spirit yourself, but ultimately, that, too, corrupted you."

_Korra._  The name whispered through Amon's mind like a breeze; he clung to it. "What are you saying?"

"That you, little one, are caught in a loop of fate: no matter what your gifts or how the spirits intervene, you will always be corrupted by your power. The one who betrays the Avatar."

The fog around him dissipated, and before him was a glowing white pillar, a figure hunched within it.

.*.*.*.

Korra lifted her head. A red pillar of light erupted before her, a man crouched within it. As he lifted his head, too, she saw a black mask, a circular dot at its centre, red dripping down the bridge of the nose like blood.

"Amon," she whispered.

"Korra." He stood, stepped forward.

A vision erupted between them, so bright that she shielded her eyes.

.*.*.*.

A battlefield.

The sky was black with choking smoke; only a smattering of light beams shone through, and they were stained red by pollution. The ground was muddy and littered with shrapnel, exploded shells, and large chunks of stone and wood. Shells of houses stood around them, foundations and rubble.

On either side of the battlefield, two armies face one another, poised to collide.

In the east stood what looked to be the United Forces: men and women in various bending stances, surrounded by specialized tanks built for benders of the different nations. At the head was a woman in streamlined battle gear, standing proudly, her long greying-brown hair streaming behind her helmet like a banner.

In the west stood troops in matching uniform, covered faces, surrounded by boxy machines and vehicles. They held guns so advanced that neither Amon nor Korra could identify them. At the helm of these troops stood a man in battle gear as well, a hood over his head. He wore Amon's mask, this one blood-red.

The two generals marched toward one another: a parlay. As they faced off in the centre, the woman removed her helm, shook out her hair. Her face was lined and her blue eyes were hard. Avatar Korra.

"Avatar," growled the man, the voice unmistakeably Amon's, and they tried to glare each other down.

"Betrayer," she spat.

"I only did what was necessary to protect my people."

"No. You have killed thousands. Thousands!" Her eyes glowed white as she called upon the Avatar State.

"What is this?" whispered Amon, watching the scene unfold.

"This is how you will die, little one," said the spirit beside him. "This is the path you and the Avatar follow."

Amon glanced sideways at Korra. Her mouth was pinched, her brows peaked.

In the vision, the red-masked Amon held out his hands. "Wait. Korra, please. Let's just talk this over."

Her jaw jutted. "Now you want to talk this over? It's too late for words, Amon. You had the opportunity long ago."

"Before I realized how much destruction this war would cause." His shoulders sagged. "There have been so many deaths."

Her voice echoed with thousands of others: "Why should I trust you?"

"I loved you, once. You loved me back."

The glow faded from her eyes.

"Remember how we trusted each other?" he said softly. "Remember how you saved my life, how we grew to care? Please, just hear my words. I never wanted it to end this way." He took a step closer.

"Don't trust him," whispered the present-day Korra.

Instead, the Korra in the vision closed the distance between them. Her hands clasped his. "Why, Amon?" she asked. "Just tell me why."

He pulled her close and said in her ear: "Because the world needs to know that a non-bender can be more powerful than the Avatar."

His arm jerked, and she heaved. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, and then they rolled back into her head.

He kicked her away. As she hit the earth, they saw a knife in her chest, buried to the hilt.

Amon closed his eyes and spread his arms, offering himself up to the army that stood behind her. Blasts of flame and earth dropped him before his arms were even fully extended, and the gap between the two armies began to close.

The vision faded.

.*.*.*.

"No." Amon looked down at his hands, expecting to see her blood on them; they were his own again, no longer flickering between past lives. His gaze snapped to Korra. She was backing away from him, eyes wide.

He twisted to face his guardian spirit. "This is a lie. A trick."

"You are destined to betray the Avatar, little one," said his spirit, staring back at him with cold yellow eyes. "Always. Consumed by power. A yin to her yang. The darkness to her light. It is the nature of your soul."

It couldn't have been him; he would never hurt Korra. Amon strode into the battlefield, still frozen in time before him, and bent down. His fingers gripped the red mask, tore it off. The face was unmistakable, even though it was marked by age: his yellow eyes dead and staring amid a sea of scars, new ones melding with the old.

"This is impossible!" His lips curled. He slammed the mask into the ground and stomped, shattering it.

Spirit-Amon loomed over him. "The resentment that both of you deny will fester over time, rising up when a tragedy befalls you both. That will be your schism, the point at which you will become enemies once again."

Images flickered through his mind: a fallen child, burns covering her body; a second child kneeling beside her, begging her to wake up.

_"If you had agreed to train them properly,"_ screamed Korra's voice.

_"If you hadn't tried to teach them in secret,"_ yelled his.

His spirit-self continued, voice emotionless: "You, little one, will be corrupted by your hatred of bending. The Avatar will be corrupted by a growing lack of empathy for non-benders. What began as small differences will augment, for both of you have the power to rally an army to your backs. Together, you will start a war."

"This is a lie," he said, whirling to face Korra. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

"You murdered me," she yelled. "You convinced me to drop my guard and then you killed me!"

"I would never hurt you."

"Liar! I just saw you stab a knife through my heart." Her finger thrust at him, accusing. "You're a monster. All this time, I was too blinded to see. All that you did to Republic City that I tried to ignore, and all that you planned to do. What was your plan for me, Amon? Before we were trapped together, what did you plan to do to me?"

"So much has changed, Korra."

"Answer the question!"

With a low sigh, he said, "I was going to trigger the Avatar State in you, then kill you. End you. End the cycle."

She shook her head slowly, her mouth hanging open, and took another step back; he realized she was returning to the white pillar.

"Don't leave," he said.

Her swallow was audible. "I am no angel. My soul is stained with blood and aggression. But I will never do anything to wilfully harm people, to wilfully start a war. I am more than just a product of my past."

"Who are you?" said a voice, and for the first time, Amon saw a spirit beside Korra, faintly glowing, mirroring her image.

"I am Avatar Korra," said Korra, her voice loud and strong. "I am the guardian of benders and non-benders alike. A keeper of the balance. And while my ancestors may not have always done the best job of it – and maybe I didn't in the past, either – I intend to do what I can. To consult with the spirits, to keep the greater balance at the forefront. To be ruled by a desire for fairness, not a lust for power." Her eyes narrowed at Amon. "Unlike this harbinger of war."

He was about to protest, but then he thought back to the roomful of weapons at Asami's factory. He pulled himself upright, steadying himself. " I see past that lust for power now."

"Do you?" said his protector spirit. "Tell me, little one: what do you carry in your satchel, back in the conscious world?"

Amon fell silent.

"Bombs," said the spirit. "And a map, to show the locations to plant them. To snuff as many as a thousand lives."

Korra's eyes widened. There was more hurt in her blue eyes than he had ever seen – even when he had twice tried to take her bending, even when his future self had murdered her. He had known his actions would hurt her, but not this much.

"Does the spirit speak the truth?" she asked.

His teeth clenched. "The base is empty."

"You brought them planning that destruction," said the spirit. "You brought them with the intention to use them for your revenge. You expected to have the blood of a thousand deaths on your hands, and you barely felt remorse."

"I didn't have my mind made up to go through with it," he said.

"You brought them with you. You gave the map to the one who would set them. This is your reality, little one. Your lust for power has never faded: you believe yourself to be the solution to a problem, a problem you still desire to fix at any cost."

Amon sagged to his knees, crumbling under the weight of all he had planned. He could feel Korra's gaze, could feel her hurt, like a cold, wiry thread tangled around his heart.

"Who are you?" asked the spirit.

"I am Amon," he said, falling back on his mantra.

"You are Amon. The betrayer. The power-hungry. You must accept this, little one."

"No," he said. "I can accept it as my past, but not as my future." Hope flickered in his chest, a tiny flame, as he realized that what he had witnessed had not yet come to pass. He lifted his head and saw the Avatar watching him. "Korra, now that we know about this future, we can prevent it. We are here to find ourselves, to learn. Now we have the power to change our fates."

There was still hurt in her eyes, but curiosity as well; he could tell that his words had resonated with her. An ethereal wind blew between them, sending her hair scattering, ruffling his cloak.

As his hope grew, it brought with it memories of all he had done right in his life. He was more than a being of power and darkness. He lifted his chin.

"I am Amon. The man who is not simply the product of his past lives, who is more than a power-hungry betrayer. The man who loves the Avatar, who spared her, twice, when he had the chance to take her bending in a cave years ago. Who laid the path for a peaceful integration of non-benders in the Council." He stood, shedding the weight of his guilt as he remembered sparing Kit and the female guard. "Who nearly made the wrong choices when torn apart by grief for the one he thought was lost, but even in his rage, spared the lives of his vulnerable foes."

A tear trailed down Korra's cheek. He took a step toward her; she flinched, but did not back away. He could still feel her cord of hurt around his heart, but it was loosening.

"I am Amon," he said confidently. "Who crossed into this plane to find the Avatar, and, having found himself instead, now sees his own darkness." He closed the distance between them, standing before her. "But also his own light. And that is the path he will choose."

"How can I trust you, after what we have seen?" whispered Korra. Her eyes closed, tears spilling down her face. "And it's not just you – I have been just as unwilling to learn from you as you have from me. There is aggression in my soul; we were both leading armies in that war. What if we are destined to bring war to the land? What if we're just fooling ourselves by thinking otherwise?"

"I was once destined to hold a part of your soul, Korra. To keep you in check. We cast aside that fate by working together, but only because you gave me a chance to earn your trust." He stared evenly down at her. "Together, we can do the same again. Come back to the material world with me, and we'll work to set this right."

"I want to trust you," she whispered. "I just don't know if I can."

"Generation after generation, we have been locked in a power struggle instead of harmony." He held out his hand, palm up: an offering. "We will be the first generation to get it right."

She hesitated, then took his hand. He felt the cord around his heart slacken, melt away as their fingers intertwined.

"There is unhappiness awaiting us back in the world," he warned.

Her grip tightened around his. "I'm ready to face it."

Turning, he led her by the hand: this time, as he walked toward the white column, there was no resistance. As the blinding light engulfed them both, he heard the spirit's voice in his ear:

_You have done better than any of us ever dreamed, little one. Remember these lessons well. Your future is yours to shape._

.*.*.*.

Amon groaned and spat blood onto the floor, lifting his head. He lay curled on his side in the middle of the vault. Asami hunched over him, watching him with concern.

"Korra," he rasped, crawling for the cage. She was slumped against the bars, her head rolling.

"Water," barked Amon. Asami tossed him the water bottle; he fumbled and dropped it. Clumsily, he opened it and reached into the cage, lifting it to Korra's lips. She suckled it like a child.

He blinked to clear his swimming vision. "How are you feeling?"

She coughed. "Disoriented. So dizzy."

"You've been poisoned. Take a minute to orient yourself." He would need to do the same. His stomach ached so badly that he had to fight the urge to curl into a ball.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Korra," said Asami from behind him, her voice wavering. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you when we were attacked."

"Asami?" Korra craned her neck to see her friend, then gave her a weak smile. "Don't apologize. I don't even know what happened. Where are we? Where's Midori?"

"I'm okay," said Midori's voice from the wall, weak. "We were kidnapped and taken to a Red Monsoons base."

"Tarrlok is with us," said Asami. "He's helping us."

Amon watched Korra, waiting for her revulsion at the prospect, but to his surprise, she only nodded.

Movement from outside the door caught his eye; a second later, Tarrlok stepped into the vault. "Bad news," he hissed, voice low, as he slid the vault door nearly shut behind him. "Red Monsoons are flooding the base. Hundreds of them. We need to get out of here, and fast."

_A trap. Of course_. Amon winced and shifted his stance, wondering why the stabbing pain in his stomach wasn't abating. "Did you find anything to cut Korra free?"

Tarrlok looked confused for a moment. "Ah, right. No, I didn't."

"Then she'll need to bend her way out." Amon met her eyes. "Korra, did you hear that?"

"I did." She weakly pushed herself to a sitting position, and her eyes widened as she looked down at her lap. "Why is there so much blood?"

He swallowed hard against a sudden knot in his throat. "We'll talk about it later. We need to get you to safety."

But she was already piecing it together. "My child." She clutched her stomach. "I was actually pregnant, wasn't I? And I lost the child." With a loud, anguished cry, she began to rock.

Amon felt a familiar lashing wire around his heart. "Korra, I need you to focus."

"Don't you care?" she whispered. "Our child, Amon, our-"

"Korra." He reached through the bars and gripped her by the collar, forcing her to look at him. "I know. But we have to get out of here alive. We have to focus. We can't break down, not yet." He could tell he was losing her: her eyes were beginning to glow white.

"Don't let her go into the Avatar State," said Tarrlok, panicked.

"It might get her out of there faster," said Asami.

"Are you mad?" said the ex-Councillor "In these confined quarters? She could lose control of herself and kill us all."

He was right: the risk was too great. Amon lifted the mask, showing his face. "Korra, look at me." He concentrated to keep his voice calm and steady. "I know how you feel. I do. We will mourn properly, I promise you. But I need you to focus. I need you to take that water and use it to cut through the bars. We need to get out of here as fast as we can."

She blinked at him with her white gaze, wind beginning to kick up around her. "They will pay for what they've done."

"Korra." He did not drop her gaze. "Remember the inner aggression that was revealed to you in the other world: you must not let it overwhelm you. Please, stay calm. We can set this right, but only if we do so with control."

He felt her inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the wind died from around them, and her eyes returned to blue. She slumped against the bars again with a small moan.

"It's going to be okay," he said quietly. "We will get through this."

With a weak nod, she lifted the water canister. She slowly pushed herself to her feet and bent the water out of the container, then began to slice at the bars with strokes of ice.

Amon fell back to the floor, his heart heavy.

"I'm so glad she's alive," said Asami softly.

He had no words strong enough to convey his agreement, so he reached out and gripped the woman's shoulder.

"What was it like?" she asked. "The oils."

"Harder than I expected." Amon coughed, then shifted to curl around his aching stomach, trying to block the vivid image of the Avatar's death. "My path is darker than I ever imagined."

Asami watched Korra, her face thoughtful. "It's important to see our own darkness so that we can grow from it, but don't forget to look for the light, too. To celebrate it. There is more good in you than you give yourself credit for." Nodding her nose at the caged Avatar, she added, "That's why she loves you."

Amon wondered if, after all they had seen together, Korra would still agree.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings from previous two chapters still apply. Blood. People die. Violence. Miscarriage discussion.

**XIII**

**Sacrifice**

Watching Korra's waterbending gradually cut through the metal was agonizing. At least when they had been hunting her down, Amon had felt as though he were directly contributing to their progress. Now all he could do was watch helplessly as she worked, trying not to focus on the blood on her clothes.

His throat began to constrict; he cleared it, but instead, the tickle grew stronger. A coughing fit overcame him, so strong that his mouth filled with blood. He hacked and sputtered. Beside him, both Asami and Midori turned to him.

"Are you all right?" asked Asami quietly.

Amon closed his eyes and, fighting his gag reflex, swallowed back the blood. He gasped for air; his vision was swimming. "There's more water in my bag."

"I'll get it for you," said Tarrlok from his position by the cage. He pulled out the canister and tossed it at Amon, who fumbled it.

"Zoran," said Midori, concern in her voice; she knew that such clumsiness was foreign to him. He felt another tickle in his throat, but lifted the water to his lips to drown it.

"You still look too grey," said Asami. After a moment of hesitation, she added, "How did you know what dose of herbs to take?"

He heard her unspoken worry:  _Did you overdose?_ Kit's words floated to his mind: Feng had been worried that the herbs might outright kill Korra. Amon closed his eyes. He had been so hasty to get to Korra that he hadn't even considered his own safety.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to convince himself as much as them. "They're just lingering effects."

For a moment, there was no sound but the ticking of Korra's waterbending against metal, and Tarrlok's pacing footsteps matching their rhythm.

"This is taking too long," said the ex-Councillor. "It's too big a job for one wounded waterbender."

Amon met his gaze, an unsavoury idea forming. "If we're going to be potentially facing hundreds of waterbenders and bloodbenders, then we're going to need another ally who can stand up to them."

The two men held eyes, a flicker of understanding passing between them, then Tarrlok looked down. "I know it's highly unusual..."

Amon nodded. He struggled to his feet, trying not to let the sudden sharp pain in his abdomen concern him. "Korra, I have a request."

She barely looked up, still focused on her work. "What is it?"

"We need you to return Tarrlok's bending."

The water splashed to the ground as she froze, her eyes wide. "What?"

Behind them, Tarrlok coughed and looked down, hands clasped behind his back. "Consider it a loan. You can take it away again once we are safely out of here."

"Are you insane?" asked Midori from her position along the wall. "Have you forgotten what he did to this city?"

Korra shook her head. "Councillor Midori is correct. Tarrlok, I took your bending for a reason. The things you did to this city were abhorrent, and you're a bloodbender."

"A bloodbender who can withstand the onslaught of enemies we are about to face," said Amon. "And a waterbender who can help you cut through the bars."

"Do you realize what you're asking me to do, Amon?" she said. "I'm not even sure I can trust you any more, and you're asking me to trust Tarrlok as well? And the balance-"

"Take my bending in his place," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. "I can't do that."

"If you are concerned about the balance, then take the bending of another in his place. I am a better candidate than he; I have killed three people with my bending. Tarrlok has killed none." He held out his hands, showing the lightning scars for evidence. "I am a bomb waiting to go off."

Korra grimaced. "If I come to regret this, Tarrlok, I will hunt you down."

"I believe it." Cocking his brow, the ex-Councillor added, "I have seen first hand what you do to people who cross you."

The two men knelt side-by-side along the bars. First, Korra stood in front of Amon.

"I really hoped you would come to peace with it instead," she said.

He shook his head. "My bending has done nothing but hurt everyone and everything around me. This is for the best."

She pressed a hand to his chest, the other to his forehead. His eyes slipped closed as he waited to, at last, be cleansed, but it didn't come; instead, her hands jerked away.

"Amon, you're hurt. I can sense your injuries."

At her words, a wave of dizziness washed over him, as if his body were finally recognizing it was wounded. He was going to ask how serious it was, but then their eyes locked, and he saw his answer. "Am I going to stay conscious long enough to lead us out of here?"

"I don't know." Her eyes dropped away. "I can keep you going for a bit, but I'm too weak to heal you properly. We need to get you to a hospital."

"Then we must be quick." He held out his water canister; she gathered glowing blue water on her palms and pressed them against his chest. He could feel the healing glow inside him, warm and soothing, as his tissues knit back together.

"That should slow the bleeding for now," she said quietly.

"Thank you, Korra." He wished the bars away so that he could wrap her in his arms.

"They will be here any second," snapped Tarrlok.

"He's no good to us dead, so hold your tongue." She once again pressed her hands to Amon's chest and forehead, preparing to take his bending. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, bracing himself. "Rid me of this curse."

He didn't expect it to hurt.

Her energy sliced through his head, sending dread and panic ricocheting through his mind. It stabbed into every muscle, every vein, as if coiling around his soul itself. His ears filled with a tearing sound so deafening that he saw white, and then he fell to the ground.

Hollow. An empty shell.

He gradually became aware that his cheek was pressed to cold metal. His eyes were dry from staring. Slowly, with a groan, he pushed himself to a seat. Everything about him felt drained, as if he were less human. What had once been glorious colour was grey.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" asked Tarrlok.

Amon's head slumped, and he caught his forehead with his hand. He recalled the delight he had taken each time his opponents had stared up at him, eyelids flaring with fear. The satisfaction when they had slumped to the floor in puddles of tears.  _I was as much a monster as they were._

Korra's thumb pressed to Tarrlok's forehead, and her eyes glowed white. The ex-Councillor let out a whoop and leaped to his feet.

"Avatar Korra, I could kiss you." He thrust his hands into the air, and the spilled water lifted from the floor. "All right, let's get you out of there."

With one last worried glance at Amon, Korra joined him.

Amon dragged himself to sit between Midori and Asami.

"You're a fool for giving him back his bending," said the Councillor, barely able to voice her words. "You should not trust him."

"Bending for bending: the balance is maintained," said Amon. "You saw first hand what I was like with firebending, Midori. I am far more a monster than Tarrlok ever was."

"Doesn't mean he wasn't a monster."

Beside him, Asami said, "He has had our backs during this entire rescue. He even came back here to tell us about the approaching Red Monsoons, when he could have easily escaped."

Amon flexed his hands, testing his body's strength. He couldn't tell if it was his injuries or the loss of bending that made him feel so sluggish, but his hands weren't as responsive as they needed to be. At least the pain in his stomach was milder. He watched Tarrlok and Korra work in unison, gradually slicing through the bars.

"It doesn't make sense that there would be so many Red Monsoons approaching," he said, thinking aloud. "The contact told us that this was an emergency hideout only."

"Maybe it was a trap all along," said Asami.

That was what he had thought at first, but it didn't add up. "If it were a trap, they would have known we were coming. We wouldn't have taken the guards by surprise."

Her voice dropped: "Maybe Tarrlok lied about the incoming forces?"

Amon shook his head: that wasn't it, either. There had been genuine panic in the ex-Councillor's voice. His travelling eyes wandered across the vault, then fixed on his satchel. It lay beside the paper and herbs.

Perfectly flat.

His heart beat in his throat as he crossed the room and bent down, picking it up. Empty.

"Tarrlok," he said quietly, "where are the bombs that were in my bag?"

The ex-Councillor's body visibly tensed, and some of the water spilled to the floor.

"Bombs?" asked Asami.

Tarrlok cleared his throat. "Come on, Avatar. We're almost through the bars."

Amon darted forward and gripped the man's shoulder, slamming him into the cage so hard that the bars rang. "What did you do?"

The ex-Councillor's mouth twisted. "Exactly what we planned. I'm removing this blight from Republic City."

"You set the bombs?" demanded Korra.

Asami stepped forward. "What bombs?"

"Amon and I decided to use this opportunity to take a more assertive approach to fixing the Red Monsoons problem," said Tarrlok, trying to free himself from Amon's grasp.

Her lips curled. "That's what you did with the resources I gave you? Bombs? This base could hold thousands of people!"

Korra's eyes glowed white; she kicked out the weakened bars and stepped free from the cage. "You have about five seconds to tell me what the hell you did before I unleash on you."

"Don't let Korra go into the Avatar State," said Tarrlok. "The bombs are all armed. If she throws even the slightest spark, we're all dead."

Amon growled and pressed his nose against Tarrlok's. "You were reckless to proceed without my help. I told you that the bombs have to be set at specific locations, with specific time waves, or this whole section of the city will collapse."

"Your locations on the map were close enough. Have you already forgotten what I studied in school? I ran the calculations. I've made sure that the bombs are properly set." The ex-Councillor pushed him away, then straightened his shirt.

"A lot of effort for a base that was supposed to be empty," said Amon.

A self-satisfied grin spread across Tarrlok's lips. "There's a communication room down the hall. While I was setting the bombs, I took the liberty to give the police the location of every other Red Monsoons hideout except this one."

They were silent. Amon's fingers curled into his palms so deeply that his knuckles ached. While the police raided every other hideout, the panicked gang members would flood this emergency bunker, not realizing that they were running straight into a trap. He would have applauded the man's clever strategy if the potential fallout weren't so horrific. "Thousands will die."

"A necessary sacrifice." Tarrlok's eyes took on a feverish light. "Imagine it – no more fear in this city. No more gangs. With the Red Monsoons dealt with so severely, all other gangs will surely flee or disband. It will be the start of an era of peace."

"You cannot achieve peace through bullying and fear," said Korra, stepping closer to them, wind beginning to whip around her. "You're just as bad as your father: you're going to destroy Republic City."

For the first time, their words seemed to penetrate through Tarrlok's resolve. His eyes narrowed. "You're wrong, Avatar. My father wanted to rule this city. I will save it, at any expense."

Footsteps and panicked yells sounded outside the door.

"We can discuss this later," hissed Tarrlok. "They're just starting to arrive, so we still have time to escape. So long as no one uses any sort of flame, the bombs won't go off yet. Not for another thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?"

"I set a central bomb that will trigger the first wave of the heat bombs," said Tarrlok. "I wired a timing device to it to give us time to escape."

Amon drove his fist into Tarrlok's gut, right under the ribcage; winded, the ex-Councillor dropped to the floor. Looming over him, Amon pressed his foot into the man's throat.

"Where is the central bomb?"

"It doesn't matter," gasped Tarrlok. "Thirty minutes isn't enough time to disarm it. I made sure of that."

Amon's foot pressed harder on the man's windpipe. "You are fortunate that I recently had an eye-opening journey of discovery, or else I would kill you where you lie."

"Go ahead. My work is done. You and I both know this is what this city needs."

Korra gripped Amon's shoulder, attempting to jerk him out of the way. "Let me at him."

He held out an arm to block her advance. "No. If we only have thirty minutes, we're going to need Tarrlok's help to get us out of here." He released the man, but as he stepped back, a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He hunched, clutching at his stomach.

"You need to take it easy; you're injured," she said.

"Not an option right now."

Outside, the shouts were escalating. Asami stood and pulled on her glove, settling into stance. Beside her, Midori wavered on her feet, in stance as well. Amon fell into formation, Korra and Tarrlok at his flanks.

"They don't know what to expect, so they're hesitating," he whispered. "The instant they attack, we retaliate and push forward while they're off guard. And Tarrlok, do not leave my sight."

"I'm still on your side," said Tarrlok quietly. "I'll help us get out of here."

Beside Amon, Korra's breaths were harsh. At first, he thought it was due to the impending battle, but when he glanced at her, she was staring at her stained pants. He pulled his black tunic over his head, tossing it to her. "Put this on. It will cover them."

She caught it and pulled it on; the tunic was so large that it was almost comical, but it effectively hid the bloodstains. "Thanks." She stood tall, fully focused. Amon felt the overwhelming urge to pull her into a hug. Instead, he whispered, "I cannot excuse my role in this, Korra. The spirits were not wrong about me."

"Later," she replied. "We'll set this right and then we'll discuss it."

With a nod, he buckled his mask over his face.

They waited as the sound of more confused yells reached their ears, but still no one approached the vault door.

"What's taking them so long?" whispered Tarrlok. "Why aren't they attacking?"

The only explanation was that none of them were capable of fighting. "They're civilians," said Amon.

Tarrlok's eyelids flared. "Civilians?"

A shriek sounded from outside: "No, Selora! Get away from there!"

A child, no more than eight, poked her head into the vault. For a brief second, her eyes travelled between them, and then she screamed and ran away.

Tarrlok deflated, his shoulders sagging. "They brought children. Spirits, they brought children."

"Of course they brought children," said Amon. "If you feared for your safety, wouldn't you send your most vulnerable to the safest location you could think of?"

Seconds later, the door slammed open, and two men stepped inside, ready to fight. They whipped water at Amon. Tarrlok and Korra stepped forward, redirecting the water at the two men; it knocked them backwards, out of the vault.

Amon darted to press against the vault door. He peered around the corner. The room was full of at least two-dozen people, mostly the elderly and children. He traced the hallways in his mind, planning a route to the closest exit.

"Midori, are you strong enough to run?"

"I will slow us down," she said.

"Miss Sato, take her flank in case she needs support. Tarrlok, you take up the rear. Korra, I need you up front with me to deflect water attacks." His eyes travelled across their faces. "There's an exit nearby. Follow me."

"But the bombs-" said Korra, and he held up a hand to stop her.

"I know. We need somewhere to regroup and plan. If we stay here, we'll be penned in." He glanced around the corner again. "Korra, I need you to make a path to the door." He pointed in the direction of the exit.

"On it." She leaped through the vault door and thrust her hands in front of her. A gust of wind barrelled through the room, knocking people out of the way. Amon began to bolt through the cleared pathway. Once he reached the doorway, he glanced back. Korra was holding an air bubble over the advancing party while Tarrlok deflected water attacks and ice shards, but she was flagging. He could see the exhaustion in her stance, and he remembered that she had been unconscious, no food or water, for as long as Midori.

He ran back to her, gripping her wrist to tug her along. When she stumbled, he jerked her arm, hoisting her onto his back. She maintained the air shield as they ran.

Once the entire party was safely in the corridor, the metal ground gave way to a grate, dirt beneath it. Korra dropped from Amon's back and thrust her arms in the air. An earthen wall formed behind them, blocking the hallway.

"This way," called Amon as he sprinted down the hall. He rounded a corner, and skidded into a crouch. He tried to change momentum and leap back the way he had come, but four sets of eyes had already locked on him. Two men, two women. One belonged to the man he had met several times as of late: the bloodbender he had fought with Midori.

"Amon?" The man's lips twisted in a grin. "How fortunate. Let's end this."

Amon shot forward. This man, he had no remorse about killing. He had left him alive twice, and that was the extent of his mercy for a bloodbender.

The man's hands thrust forward in claws. Pain and paralysis had just gripped Amon's muscles when a voice called out behind him:

"Leave him alone, Dukkon."

His attacker's mouth dropped. Behind him, Amon heard Tarrlok approach, walking slowly.

"Who are you?" demanded Dukkon, extending an arm as if to snag Tarrlok in his grip as well. Tarrlok's steps slowed, but did not stop.

Dukkon's companions thrust attacks down the hall, water and ice, but the attacks stopped harmlessly in front of Amon, sloshing and clattering to the ground. Tarrlok walked past him and held out his hands, clawing them in the air. All three of the bloodbender's companions dropped to the floor, writhing. Dukkon's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"Tarrlok."

"Nice to see you again, cousin." Tarrlok slid the mask onto his head, revealing his face.

The man sneered. "I expected you to be rotting in jail. Though, it's not a surprise to see that a weasel-snake like you has sided with the man who nearly undid us all."

"You're outclassed, Dukkon. I have the Avatar with me as well; you cannot win this fight." Tarrlok stopped several feet in front of the man and squeezed his hands. The other three attackers fell unconscious. Then, he calmly clasped his hands behind his back. "Let us pass."

Tarrlok's fingers curled behind his back, and Amon, still in Dukkon's grip, felt a counter-tug on his muscles. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip, his body strained by the contradicting bloodbending pulls. He tried to steel himself. This charade was necessary. The two bloodbenders were an even match, but if Amon got within chi-blocking distance of Dukkon, he could turn the tide in their favour.

"Amon." Korra's voice.

"Stay back," he yelled.

Tarrlok subtly lifted Amon to his feet like a puppet, forcing his body to advance.

"Impossible," growled Dukkon. "He wasn't able to resist my bending before." Amon felt the man's grip on him increase. His muscles screamed in protest, and his joints ground against one another. Deep within his body, the wounds that Korra had carefully healed began to reopen. A grunt of pain escaped his lips, and his progress slowed, but still Tarrlok forced him forward.

"The spirits have favoured him with the ability to resist bloodbending once again, Dukkon," said Tarrlok. "And now he is on a mission to wipe you and your ilk from the face of the earth. Do you want to lose your bending?"

Their attacker took a step backwards, his curled hands now more defensive than aggressive. "No."

"Do you want him to hurt you as badly as he did the last two times you met?"

"No." Dukkon took another step back.

"Then drop him."

The bloodbender took a breath so deep that Amon could see his chest rise and fall.

Suddenly, the grip dropped. Tarrlok's followed a second later, and Amon bolted forward. Panicked, Dukkon shot a bolt of ice at him; Amon dodged sideways, kicked off the wall and jumped at the man, his knee catching him in the face. The bloodbender dropped. Amon landed behind him and crouched, hands searching for chi points on the man's neck. He pressed into them, ensuring the man would stay down.

"Did you kill him?" asked Tarrlok. Behind him, the rest of their group was tentatively approaching.

"No." Not directly. The man would be out for longer than thirty minutes, so the bomb would take care of him unless one of his cohorts took pity on him. Amon sagged against the wall, breathing hard, as he tried to steady his injured body.

"I could crush his heart right now," said Tarrlok quietly. "He can't counter-bend himself if he's unconscious."

"You won't do it," said Amon, seeing the man's conflict.

Tarrlok's eyes closed and he bowed his head. "I am too weak for this mission."

Amon eyed him, then turned and began to run for the exit.

.*.*.*.

They burst through a trap door and into a back alley. As they fell against the wall, Amon found his breath long enough to say, "Time?"

"Eighteen minutes left," said Tarrlok.

"We have to stop the bombs," said Korra.

"No," said Tarrlok. "I will finally clean up the problem that-" His face twisted. "There were so many children in there. Why were there so many children? I didn't think..." He began to pace.

"The bombs are heat-activated," said Amon. "You and Korra can freeze them in blocks of ice until we get a chance to disarm them. If we start with the central bomb, then it won't detonate and trigger the others, which would give us time to neutralize the entire base."

"No!" Tarrlok spun to face them, his lips flared. "Not when we're so close to fixing the problem. I won't let you." He held up his hands. Amon braced himself, waiting for the bloodbending to begin, but it never came. Instead, the ex-Councillor's hands shook.

"You aren't your father, Tarrlok," said Asami. She stepped toward him. "Remember what you told me yesterday? You don't have to sacrifice your own life to atone for your father's sins."

He crouched, like a wild animal about to flee. "It doesn't matter. It's too late. We don't have time."

Then they would have to neutralize the bombs without Tarrlok's help. "You used the locations I mapped for you?" demanded Amon.

"Yes, of course. Though they were about a hundred feet off."

Amon stared at him. He had been somewhat casual with his markings on the map, but not a hundred feet casual. "That can't be true."

Tarrlok wilted under his gaze. "My calculations showed that-" His hand suddenly dove into his satchel, and he pulled out a piece of paper. His eyes skated across it, then widened. "Oh spirits. Oh spirits, no..."

Amon snatched the paper out of his hands, staring at it. Numbers swam before his eyes, equations scribbled over equations, but he quickly found what he was looking for.

"You forgot to carry a one," said Amon quietly. "Half the city is going to collapse because you forgot to carry a one." Red clouded his vision, and he lunged at the man, punching him in the throat. Tarrlok gasped and then dropped to his knees, retching.

"Korra," said Amon, "you and I are going to disable the bombs. Asami, you need to evacuate the base."

"How?" asked Asami.

"The central communication room is directly east of the vault room; broadcast an emergency announcement. You have seventeen minutes to do it and then get to safety. Midori, call the police and get an evacuation in progress for everyone who lives above the blast radius."

"What have I done?" wheezed Tarrlok from the ground. "Oh spirits, what have I done?"

Amon resisted the urge to kick the man's flank. "Last chance, Tarrlok. Tell us where the central bomb is. You have the power to end this."

When Tarrlok didn't answer, Amon growled and cocked his head at the rest of the party. "Let's go."

.*.*.*.

"We'll never make it to all the bombs in time," said Korra, yelling to be heard above the wind that whipped past them; they sprinted side-by-side. "You know that, right?"

"We can minimize the damage," said Amon. "On our left, at this junction."

They stopped running, and Amon's eyes scoured the metal beams for the bomb. "There." He pointed.

"Got it." Korra summoned water from her canister and formed a block of ice around it. "How many more?" Her breaths were ragged, and he realized she didn't have the stamina to keep up their sprint. He didn't, either – he was trying to ignore his own injuries, but the taste of metal in his throat was growing stronger.

"Seven, plus the central blast, if we can find it." He glanced at her. "You'll have to summon an air scooter."

"But you have to show me where the bombs are."

"We'll ride together."

She frowned. "Last time we tried that-"

"I won't try to beat you to the finish line this time," he said.

With a nod, she summoned a spinning ball of air and hopped onto it. He jumped into place behind her, fighting for his balance; once he had found it, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"I can feel your injuries from here, Amon," she said as they began to move. "You need healing and rest."

"Later. Go north here." Even swimming in his tunic as she was, her body felt good against his. He took a moment to sink into the comfort of her warmth against him. Only hours earlier, he had thought he would never again be able to hold her.

He guided her down winding corridors. As they passed by dozens of confused-looking gang members, the occasional blast of water or ice flew at them, but Korra easily deflected them. Amon's pride swelled at her competence.

She froze one bomb, then another. The air ball began to pick up speed, careening through hallways; Amon clung to her, her hair whipping against his mask, his hood blowing back.

Asami's voice came over the intercom, echoing in the halls: "Attention, everyone: there is a bomb in the tunnels that will explode in ten minutes. Evacuate immediately. Repeat: evacuate immediately."

Panicked people began to stampede around them.

"Hang on," yelled Korra, and the air ball climbed up the wall and onto the roof. Amon clung to her with all his strength; without airbending on his side, gravity tugged at his body. The blood rushed to his head and he closed his eyes as they whipped over the heads of the frenzied crowd.

"Next left," he called.

The ball veered around the corner, whipping him off. He flew for the metal wall.

A cushion of air intercepted the blow, and he fell with a thump to the ground. Korra landed in front of him. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Dazed, he pushed himself to his feet. "There." He pointed at the bomb, and Korra froze it.

"Five left," she said grimly.

"I think we're running out of time." He edged out of the way as a family rushed past them.

"And I'm out of water," she said, tossing the empty canister aside.

He closed his eyes, tracing the hallways in his mind. If they could figure out where the central bomb was, they might still be able to avoid catastrophe. A meticulous man like Tarrlok would be precise with its location, somewhere evenly spaced between the blast points. Somewhere reinforced, so that the blast wouldn't cause stability issues.

"Amon," said Korra. "We have to go."

Already, he was narrowing down the radius of the potential location in his mind. "Korra, if we're still down here when the blast goes off, you can bend the explosion around you and stay safe, right?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"Good. Then we're going to track down the central bomb."

She caught his arm. "You need to get out of here. Please, Amon. It's too dangerous, and you're badly injured."

"We can still stop this." He covered her hand and squeezed it. "Together."

Her mouth flattened, but she nodded and summoned the air scooter, holding out a hand to help him onto it. As he guided her toward the centre area of the base, the panicked crowd around them thinned. In spite of the disorganization sparked by Asami's announcement, it seemed that people were successfully escaping.

They were about to whip past a solitary man running down the hall, when Korra halted the air scooter so suddenly that Amon staggered to find his footing. With a howl, she thrust her palms forward, and a bolt of air slammed into the man, knocking him flat.

"Traitor!" She charged at the fallen man. "You're a Red Monsoon! It was you all along. You betrayed us, didn't you?"

The man sat up, and Amon recognized a doctor who had frequently attended to the Equalists. Instead of turning to flee, the doctor stood and closed his eyes, as if waiting for a final blow.

"Kill me," said Doctor Wu. "I have nothing left to live for."

"Gladly," snarled Korra, but Amon caught her shoulder. She turned to look at him, her eyes narrow. "Let me do it. He's the doctor who was with me right before the attack. He's the reason Midori and I are here. He's the reason our child is gone"

At the words, the doctor's eyes flew open. "I'm sorry. I expressly told them that you were most likely pregnant, that using any sort of herbs on you was going to put the foetus at risk. I thought that would stop them."

Korra's lips pulled into a snarl and tears streamed down her cheeks. Amon had never seen her so angry. "Traitor!"

"It's not what you think," said the doctor. "It was all to protect my family, I swear." He turned to Amon. "You were supposed to be there, too, so they could get all three of you in one go. But when you weren't..." He looked down. "Let me die."

"We don't have time for this, Korra," said Amon. "We can deal with him later."

"Maybe I can help you," said the doctor earnestly. "The man wearing the black mask is with you too, right? I just passed him."

Tarrlok. "Where?"

The doctor pointed; it was the direction of the central auditorium. Dots connected in Amon's mind. The auditorium was the perfect location for a central blast: corridors leading to all four initial blast points. Reinforced walls. "Korra, let's go."

Her teeth were still bared at the doctor, her arms half-poised to attack him.

"Korra," said Amon. "We don't have time."

"Fine. I'll deal with you later." She stepped back and summoned the ball of air, but her body was rigid when Amon settled into place behind her.

.*.*.*.

They burst into the central auditorium seconds later. Tarrlok stood in the centre of the stage, two women and eight children in a circle around him. All of them were pressed flat against the stage save for the women; they were held in place by Tarrlok's whips, which he was holding with one hand, the other contorted in the air. Amon guessed the women were two of his remaining bloodbender relatives.

As they closed the distance, Amon saw that Tarrlok's foot rested on a bomb.

"Tarrlok," hollered Korra, completely negating the element of surprise. Tarrlok turned to them, face strained.

"Leave, Avatar."

Their first priority was to ensure that they wouldn't be attacked by bloodbenders. Amon leaped onto the stage and chi-blocked one of the women; with her bending disabled, she dropped like a stone beneath the force of Tarrlok's bloodbending. He did the same to the other.

"Thank you," said Tarrlok, dropping his whips. "You have approximately two minutes to get free of the blast. I suggest you take advantage of that." This close, Amon could see that tears streamed down the man's face.

Without the electric whir of the whips, the sound of the captives' sobs and pleas filled Amon's ears. "Give me the bomb, Tarrlok," he said quietly. "I might be able to disarm it."

"No!" Tarrlok's voice rose to a frenzied pitch. "These are the last of my father's legacy and his father before him. If I can't wipe the Red Monsoons from this city, then I can at least end this cursed bloodline."

"Please, Tarrlok," begged one of the women from the floor. "We don't even know yet if the children are benders."

"Shut up!" Tarrlok's eyes squeezed shut.

"We will stay with you if you'll just let our families go free," said the other woman. "They have done nothing to deserve this. There is no blood on their hands. Don't make them pay for our crimes."

"Give them the freedom we never had," said the first woman. "The chance to live their lives honourably."

Amon waited, seeing that the conflict in the ex-Councillor's mind was nearing its end.

Tarrlok's head bowed. Slowly, his arms lowered. One by one, the captives stood. They clustered around the two women who remained, frantically pleading and questioning.

"Run." Amon grabbed the arms of two children and shoved them in the direction of the stairs, then turned to grab two more. Korra did the same. He watched to see if the two bloodbending women would leave as well, but they sat cross-legged in front of Tarrlok, eyes downcast.

Tarrlok sank to his knees. He picked up the bomb and cradled it to his chest. "You didn't manage to disable all the bombs, did you?" he asked Amon.

"No."

"Amon." Korra's hand gripped his shoulder. "You have to go."

"Blame it all on me," said Tarrlok. "Every last bit of it, from my escape to whatever damage this explosion does to the city; take none of the blame yourself. Let them know I did it out of a misguided sense of justice, not malice." He curled around the bomb like a child around a stuffed toy, rocking. "I wanted to fix everything, Amon. I wanted to die a hero. Not like this. Never like this."

Amon hesitated, surprised that his heart ached for the man.

Tarrlok's icy eyes fixed on him. "Run."

"Go," growled Korra, stepping forward and spreading her arms. Wind began to kick up around her. "I'm going to try to contain the blast."

With a nod, Amon turned and began to sprint.

.*.*.*.

Korra formed a dome of air around Tarrlok. Her body was so weak that the air shield was patchy and thin. She grunted, struggling to hold it up. She tried to call on the Avatar State to aid her, but her body was so sluggish that it was barely a flicker inside her.

From within the dome, terrified blue eyes locked with hers, white all the way around the irises.

"Put down the bomb, Tarrlok," she pleaded, voice strained. She might still be able to save him, if he would just let go and step back.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

The bomb exploded.

White light engulfed her vision, and she poured all her energy into the shield, strengthening herself with the knowledge and wisdom of her past lives as the Avatar State finally began to creep over her.

Not quickly enough.

Flame erupted from leaks in the shield, rocketing across the room.

.*.*.*.

The explosion was so forceful that it knocked Amon off the stage, sending him flying into the aisle below. He rolled onto his back, winded; the air was so thick with smoke that he shoved his mask on top of his head, gasping for air. Fire blasts shot through the air above him. He tried to swallow his rising panic: Korra would be safe. She could firebend the blast around herself.

Then the flames died, and he knew he had seconds before the first wave of bombs kicked off. Ignoring the pains that jolted through his torso, he sprinted toward the children huddled in the aisle. They had avoided most of the damage of the blast, but now they were beginning to stand.

"Get down!" he yelled, launching himself at them. He knocked them to the ground, but the next explosion caught him and tossed him backward. Searing heat scorched his face as he flew through the air. Instinctively, he curled into a ball against the flames, letting his muscles slacken to absorb the incoming blow.

Instead, a cushion of air caught him, and he sank harmlessly to the ground. Korra stood beside him, shielding him and the other escapees from the blast, fully engulfed by the Avatar State.

Several seconds later, the flames died, but the metal around them began to groan.

Amon shakily rose to his feet. "The whole structure is going to collapse."

"I'll stop it," said Korra, her voice booming and echoing. "Get them to safety."

"Tarrlok-" he began, turning back, but the Avatar stepped into his line of sight.

"He and the two women are gone. Don't look. Your nightmares are troubled enough as it is."

He nodded his thanks to her. Without responding, she sped ahead on a current of air and disappeared from sight.

He hobbled to the group of escapees. "Follow me."

A couple of the older children picked up others who were wounded, and the group began to run, Amon taking up the rear and calling out directions. One of the children began to lag behind; he recognized her as the little girl who had poked her head into the vault.

"Come on," he said gently. "Run as fast as you can."

The walls around them groaned, and dirt began to fall through a seam.

"I'm tired," she sobbed, and he saw that her face and arms had been badly burnt by the blast. "And Mommy is still back there."

Amon looked back and, seeing just a glimpse of three corpses on the stage, quickly averted his eyes as his own nightmares converged on him, threatening to paralyse him.

"Come on, kiddo," he said gently. He scooped her up by her armpits and lifted her onto his shoulders. "We have to go." Even though he was exhausted, the idea of saving this poor girl – one who had lost her mother to flames, just like he had – gave him strength. He began to sprint, barking out directions to the rest of the group as he ran.

Black spots swam in his vision by the time they burst through the door, and sweet night air filled his lungs. He passed the girl to the nearest police officer and fell to his knees, coughing and retching. Flashing lights blurred around him, and he could hear sirens in the background. The cacophony of voices suggested that the alley was packed with frightened people, but he was too exhausted to look at them.

"Amon!"

He lifted his head to see Asami limping toward him, Officer Mako and Bolin on her heels. She skidded to her knees in front of him, gathering him in a half hug. "Amon, you're okay."

He swallowed back the metallic taste in his mouth. "Are you arresting the Red Monsoons members?"

"Detaining everyone for questioning," said Mako.

"All the waterbenders need to be deployed as healers."

"On it." Mako pressed a button on his radio.

"Korra," said Amon, glancing around them. "Where is Korra?"

"There." Bolin pointed above and behind him.

Amon rolled onto his back and blinked until his vision cleared. Hundreds of feet above the city, held up in a twisted column of air, Avatar Korra glowed so brightly that he had to shield his eyes. Her arms were spread from her body like wings, more triumphant and noble than any pose he had ever managed to capture in his propaganda posters. He felt his breath catch as he stared up at her, seeing true power for the first time. She was a goddess. Bending incarnate. A star in the night sky.

"She's holding up the city," said Bolin, kneeling beside him, his eyes locked on her as well. "She's bending the earth underneath the buildings, holding it up so that it doesn't collapse."

Amon swallowed against a lump in his throat. The same woman who looked at him like he was a king as they made love, who curled against him like a child when she needed comfort, whose eyes lit up when he met her at her window – that same woman, soft and vulnerable, was holding up an entire city through sheer force of will. He had never felt such humility; it shrank him against the earth as he stared up at her. This magnificent being, this powerful vessel for a spirit as old as the world itself, was the woman who loved him.

"She is amazing," he whispered, the word paling in comparison to the admiration swelling within him.

"Yeah," said Bolin softly. "She really is."

He glanced up at Bolin and Asami, saw the same awe and humility written on their faces, and the pride he felt was almost overwhelming.

But when he looked back at Korra, he saw a stoop to her shoulders, and he realized she couldn't do it alone. Practicality engulfed his wonder, and he forced himself to sit up in spite of his body's protests. "Officer Mako," he called, his voice hoarse. "Are the metalbenders inside reinforcing the collapsed tunnels?"

The officer turned. "Yes."

"Give me a map. I can tell them the critical areas to reinforce to save time."

Mako hesitated.

"Quickly," said Amon.

The officer returned with Chief Beifong and a map of the base. Several areas of the map were blank. Amon snatched the pen out of Mako's hand and flattened the map against the ground. From memory, he filled in the blank sections. He sketched circles around the points that would need reinforcement, then drew crosses where the undetonated bombs lay.

"Let's get to it," said Chief Beifong. "Bolin, how's your metalbending coming?"

"A bit weak still, ma'am," replied Bolin.

"Then stick close to me: you can assist. Come on."

Exhausted, Amon fell onto his back, watching Korra. Her hair had come loose from its bonds, whipping around her, adding to her ethereal aura. His hands pressed flat against the ground, where he could feel the tremble from her bending and the rhythmic pounds of the metalbenders working to reshape the tunnels. His eyes slid closed, and the sensations and sounds began to blur together.

"You shouldn't be sleeping," said a voice behind him, jolting him awake. "You're too injured; you could fall into a coma." Amon tilted his head back, convinced that he was still dreaming, or that his ears were playing tricks on him.

"Midori." He smiled at her. "Thank you for all you did to help this city tonight."

She gingerly sat beside him and cocked her head at Korra. "Amazing, isn't it? Even dehydrated, drugged and exhausted, she's holding up an entire city. We underestimated her strength, all those years. I never thought I'd say this, but it's probably a good thing you two started knocking boots. She's far better as an ally than an opponent." After a pause, she added, "Did Tarrlok make it out?"

Amon shook his head no.

"I was right that he couldn't be trusted." She cocked a brow at him. "I'm never going to let you hear the end of that."

"His goals were more altruistic than you might think," he said softly. "It was not long ago that we tried to create a war to give Republic City what we thought it needed. Had we succeeded, we would have been the city's villains, not him. Last night, he said that he, Korra and I each had the power to tear this city apart. He wasn't wrong."

"I guess sometimes you have to look at a person's goals when you're judging their actions. Even if they seem to contradict everything you thought you knew about the person." She reached out to squeeze his shoulder, and he realized she was talking about his firebending.

"I'm glad you're okay, Midori," he said quietly. "The thought of losing you-"

"You didn't," she interrupted, gruff, but the corner of her lips lifted.

"Everyone's out," called Chief Beifong's voice. "We've made all the basic reinforcements. There's still more work to do to fix it properly, but it will hold the city's weight again."

Amon lifted his head to see that she was speaking with Mako and a couple of officers he didn't recognize. He carefully pushed himself to his feet, but was overcome by hacking. Midori grabbed his shoulder, concerned, but he waved her off. He spat blood onto the ground, then stood tall and lowered his mask over his face as he approached the officers.

Chief Beifong nodded at him. "Thanks for your aid. We've tried to flag down Korra to let her know she can stop, but we can't get her attention."

"Won't she just stop when she gets tired enough?" asked Mako.

Amon remembered her working herself to exhaustion during their second night trapped in the cave. He didn't want to think about what would happen if she worked herself unconscious at such a great height. "I don't think restraint is in her nature. I can get through to her. Can you get me to her?"

A timid voice spoke behind him: "I can help, if you get me some water."

Amon turned to see the Red Monsoons guard he had spared outside the vault. A small child was pressed into her leg, arms around her. The girl he had rescued from the tunnels. His mouth flattened as he sized up the pair. "I can trust you?" he asked the guard.

The woman nodded earnestly. "You spared my life back there, and rescued my best friend's daughter. I owe you one."

"I'll zap her if she tries to mess with you," said Asami protectively, holding out her glove.

"Here." Mako kicked the top bolt off a nearby fire hydrant, and the water gushed into the air.

"There has to be another way," protested Midori. "Zoran, your injuries-"

"Can wait." Ignoring the stabbing pains in his gut, Amon turned to the waterbender. "I'm ready."

With a determined nod, the woman swept her hands into the air. A spout of water lifted Amon into the sky. He took a deep breath to steady himself, closing his eyes against the increasing height. He could feel the water whipping around his body, but as he climbed, he could feel the wind coming off Korra as well. More than that, there was the tingle of energies flooding his body, more powerful than any he had ever experienced. It was a combination of the warmth of his guardian spirit with the cold tingle he had felt during his death, and it grew stronger as he drew closer to her.

When he felt the spout reach its apex, he opened his eyes.

Korra hovered above him, his tunic and her hair fluttering around her like banners. Her eyes were so bright that he couldn't look directly at her face. He called her name, but the word was lost in the wind.

He looked down to signal that he needed to move closer to her, and the ground tilted and swam beneath him. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the vertigo, and waved his hand to communicate with the waterbender. It worked; the spout moved closer.

Korra's face was inches from his now, and he forced himself to hold her blinding gaze. Sweat and tears ran down her face, and her breaths were harsh. Her eyes fixed on him, accusing, as if he were an intruder.

"Korra." Shaking, he ran the pads of his fingers along her jawline. "Korra, it's okay. You can rest. It's over."

She blinked, and the howl of wind around them began to soften.

"You've saved the city, Korra," he said. "The metalbenders have reinforced the walls. The waterbenders are healing the wounded." He tried to continue talking, but a cough interrupted his words. He lifted his mask, doubling over as he tried to regain his breath. Blackness swam in his vision.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, Korra's brows were pinched with concern.

"You're a hero to this city, Korra." He tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat. "And you are a hero to me as well. Come back to yourself so we can celebrate."

Slowly, the white faded from her eyes as she glided toward him. He caught her in his arms.

Her face buried into his collarbone and her arms wrapped so tightly around him that he struggled to breathe. He pressed his lips into her shoulder and held her close, eyes closed.

Suddenly it dawned on him that this was the woman he had almost lost, the one he had thought was dead only the night before, and he couldn't hold her tightly enough to show her how much he loved her.

Around him, he could feel the water lowering them toward the ground, but he didn't care: all that mattered was the woman in his arms. His love, his hero, his Avatar. He clawed a hand into her hair and felt her shuddering against him, her fingernails digging into his back. The water dissipated and they landed on hard ground, and still he did not let her go.

Voices barked commands around them, footsteps circled them, and hands tried to tear them apart. He curled into her, desperate not to lose her again. His arms were numb and weight crushed his chest, but he couldn't let her go.

"Zoran," came Midori's voice. "Let go. We need to get you both to a hospital."

He couldn't, his delirious mind reasoned. He couldn't risk being separated from her. Hands roughly gripped his arms, trying to loosen his embrace.

"It's okay, Amon," said Korra weakly. "We're going to be okay now. You can let go."

"I won't lose you again," he said, his senses dimming.

"You won't. I promise. But I can't lose you, either. Promise me–"

Then arms tore her from him, and half-conscious, he clawed the air after her, wondering if the roar he heard was coming from his throat. He could hear her yelling his name, her voice far away.

Then someone was lifting him, and the darkness finally overcame him.


	15. XIV: What Was Lost

**XIV**

**What Was Lost**

The ambulance jostled with so much force that shocks of pain radiated through Korra's body. Gritting her teeth, she rolled onto her side.

"Stay still," scolded the paramedic, barely audible over the siren. "You're going to exacerbate your injuries."

Korra ignored him and craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Amon. Two paramedics mostly blocked him from view, but she could see his arm dangling off his stretcher, fingers clawed and pallid. In the short lull between sirens, she heard the phrase, "cardiac arrest," and her own heart twisted.

"I'm a healer," she said, voice rasping. "I can help."

"You're in no condition," said the paramedic standing over her. "We have healers. You have to rest."

"Let me help." She struggled to sit up. "I need to help him."

"Lie down!" snapped the paramedic, trying to hold her down.

Amon's fingers were turning blue now, and the paramedics were barking orders, pulling out a long, thick needle. Korra's voice escalated to a yell. "I need to help him! Don't let him die!" She felt the Avatar State rising up within her, and struggled to contain it.

Then hands pinned her down, a needle slid under her skin, and her world faded into a buzzing grey haze.

.*.*.*.

She came to in the hospital. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling and blinked, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Her head rolled along the pillow to see Tenzin seated beside her, reading a book. She croaked his name.

"Korra." He looked up, his smile wrinkling his eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay. We were worried sick when they took you." In an unexpected show of affection, he leaned over to give her a hug. She clung to him.

Almost afraid to voice the question, she asked, "Did Amon make it?"

When Tenzin pulled away, his face was solemn. "The hospital has a state-of-the-art equipment, Korra, and they're doing everything they can. He lost a lot of blood."

"I'll give him blood," she said. "We can do a transfusion."

"That's not a good idea; you lost a lot of blood yourself." The man hesitated, and by the sadness in his eyes, Korra wondered how much the doctors had told him about her own wounds. She expected the thought to send her spiralling into misery, but she found she was too numb.

"Midori?" she asked. "Asami?"

"They are both here. Councillor Midori is doing well, and they think they can reverse the effects of her dehydration very quickly; both of you will be kept for observation for a few days. Asami was still in the building when the blast went off, so she has some smoke inhalation and a few minor burns, but she'll pull through just fine."

Korra turned to look out the window. She had a perfect view of the harbour and, above it, the mountains. Her eyes locked onto Observation Mountain, to the plateau that had once been a cave.

"Tarrlok is gone," she said. "I tried to save him, but he was so ready to die." Tears pricked at her eyes. "I tried to save everyone. I couldn't stop the explosion; some of the flames got through my shield."

Tenzin cleared his throat. "From what I hear, you and your friends saved thousands of lives. There are many injured, yes, but only four bodies have been found so far. You are all heroes. And don't forget that you were badly injured – you did amazing things in spite of your body's weakness."

She tried to smile, but her thoughts were still wrapped around Amon's blue-tinted hand. "Can I see him?"

"I believe he's still in surgery, but I can check." Standing, Tenzin picked up his book to leave. "I'll let the others know you are here."

.*.*.*.

After a brief, tearful reunion with Bolin, Mako and Tenzin's entire family, the visitors were shooed out. The nurse gave Korra strict orders to rest – the doctor would be in to talk with her in the morning about her situation – but she found her thoughts pacing circles around Amon. Outside, the darkness was just beginning to abate, and she wondered if he was still in surgery.

Her body ached as she put her weight on her legs. Holding up the city had left her muscles weighed down by more fatigue than she had ever felt in her life. She pressed a hand to the wall, using it to brace herself upright.

Amon's room was three doors down. He lay on his back with a grey tint to his skin. Even from the doorway, she could hear that his breaths were uneven and wheezing. A doctor bent over him, running a hand over his distended abdomen as if reading it.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked softly, stepping into the room.

"You shouldn't be up," replied the doctor without turning around. The voice was familiar. Forgetting her fatigue, she staggered forward until she stood beside him to confirm his identity. Doctor Wu.

"You!" she growled. "Get away from him."

The doctor held her gaze, his eyes red. "I told you: they manipulated me, took everything. Finish me if you must. I have nothing left to live for." His hand hovered over Amon's chest. "But you do, and so does he. I might be able to save him."

"Why should I trust you, you traitor? You arranged for my capture! This is all your fault." She could feel the Avatar State rising within her, and a part of her didn't want to fight it.

"Yes." The doctor's head bowed. "It is my fault you lost the budding life that was within you. I can't let him die as well. I can't be responsible for the Avatar losing both her lover and her future child."

Though she had already been certain she had miscarried, it hurt her to hear a doctor confirm it. "Why didn't you just tell me I was pregnant?"

"I knew the attack was coming, that it could harm the embryo. I thought maybe the illusion of uncertainty would make a loss more bearable, if it occurred, but when I saw your anguish in the tunnels..." His shoulders slumped. "I don't care what you do to me after this. Just give me the chance to help first."

Korra reached out and gripped Amon's hand. It was stiff and cold, as if he were dead. After a long pause, she swallowed back her fury at the doctor: if he really had been manipulated, like he claimed, then he was as much a victim as she was. With a glance at Amon's face, slick with sweat and shuddering with uneven breaths, she decided she was desperate enough to trust him. "Then help him."

The doctor didn't look at her. "I need your help, if you are up for it. They were able to cauterize some of his internal wounds, but they weren't able to find all of them, and he's still losing blood. I can read his blood in a way they cannot. I'm going to use bloodbending to correct the blood flow in his body, one injured site at a time. While I'm holding the blood flow in the correct position, you will use your waterbending to heal the tissue around it, like fixing a leak."

"Bloodbending? But it isn't a full moon." She took in his long, sharp nose and distinctive widow's peak. "You're related to Yakone and Tarrlok."

"My real name is Sarokun, and Yakone was my uncle. It was a cruel family, one I tried to disown many times. But that doesn't matter now." His voice was quiet. "This will take about an hour, Avatar Korra. Are you up for it? I know you are still weak yourself, and that you might be opposed to using an illegal bending art."

Her thumb slid across Amon's knuckles. In spite of her qualms with bloodbending, she was conscious of the fact that Amon's condition was mainly due to the oils he had ingested to rescue her. He had gone to great length to save her, and she would do the same for him. "I'm ready."

The doctor strode across the room and gently closed the door. Korra pulled water from a glass on the counter and encased her hands in a glow, then waited for the doctor to begin.

It was distasteful work. Each time the doctor clenched his hands, Amon's body seized, protesting the redirection of the blood within it. As Korra probed into his body, she could feel his muscles vibrating under the strain. She thanked the spirits that he was unconscious.

Wu's prediction was accurate: it was almost exactly an hour by the time they finished. "Those are all the major tears," he said. "His body should be able to take care of the smaller ones on its own, and the waterbenders can help reverse the herb's effects on his kidneys."

Amon's skin was pinker, and when Korra gripped his hand, it was still clammy, but warmer. "And he'll live now, right?"

"We've done all we can," said the doctor. "But I think he'll be okay. It might take him a few days to come out of it."

"Thank you." She paused. "You said that the Red Monsoons forced you to set us up, and threatened your family."

"Killed them," said Wu softly. "I've been trying to leave the gang for years, but they keep extorting tasks out of me. This time was the first time they made good on their threats. I think they wanted to break me, to eliminate me as competition for leadership of the gang." He snorted. "As if I would ever have wanted that."

"Would you be willing to share all the information you have with Officer Mako?"

He paused. "If there is a way I can be useful, Avatar Korra, I will do it."

That, at least, was something positive out of all this mess.

Her hand tightened around Amon's. While she knew that he had played a part in the explosion, her mind wouldn't reconcile it. Just like the visions they had seen in the world between worlds, it made no sense to her that the man who loved her, gentle and protective, could be so horribly violent.

She stared at Amon's face, his expression perfectly neutral, nose and mouth marked by a fresh burn scar. This man who, until recently – maybe even still – was fated to murder her. Maybe they were just too fundamentally different to be together. And yet, the thought of leaving his side made her heart twist, made tears well in her eyes.

"Promise me you're going to wake up," she whispered. "We'll talk through this. We'll figure it all out. You just need to wake up."

As expected, there was no response, but she took solace in the fact that his breaths were deep and even.

"You should go rest," said the doctor. "You are still recovering."

She nodded and set Amon's hand on the blanket, then turned to leave.

As she reached the door, the doctor said, "Avatar Korra, I have no words for how deeply sorry I am for everything that happened to you because of my actions."

Her eyes closed as she paused. "I'm sorry for your loss as well, Doctor, but I hope you'll understand if I don't forgive you."

Her hand cupped her empty stomach and she cast one last look at her wounded lover, then left the room.

.*.*.*.

The mournful sound of a flute roused Amon from his slumber; his eyelids parted. His stiff neck ached in protest as he took in his surroundings. He was in a hospital – given his most recent memories, that made sense – but the flute's music did not fade even as the world came into focus around him. Was he half in the spirit world again? He reached out an aching arm to throw open the curtains of the window beside his bed, and saw that dawn was a faint glow on the horizon. Morning mist wreathed the mountains and skimmed the water, giving an ethereal effect, but real enough that he knew he was fully in the material world.

How long had he been out? His mind was as hazy as the surface of the water. Where was Korra?

His eyes were drawn to a folded paper on his bedside table, and he ran his fingers across the headline: "Avatar Saves Republic City!" He could barely see Korra in the photo, glowing and floating above the city, and even the memory of it filled him with awe. In the bottom corner was a photo of him curled protectively around her, a memory that was blurred in his mind. "A masked man embraces the Avatar after she saves the city," the caption read. "Could this be the return of Amon? Were the rumours of his long-ago dalliance with the Avatar true?"

He let out a long, low sigh. No more secrets.

Oddly, a part of him was relieved.

He slipped on the hospital slippers by his bed, then tested his weight. Though shaky, his legs held. His torso felt bruised from the inside out as he hobbled into the hallway, and the robe was so thin that he folded his arms over his chest to try to retain his body heat.

The flute started playing again, behind him. Turning, he saw the source of the haunting sound; a small girl stood in a doorway several rooms down, playing a soft melody on a wooden flute. She wore a hospital gown and burns scored her arms and face. He squinted to bring her into focus: the girl who had poked her head into the vault at the base. The girl he had helped escape, whose mother had died with Tarrlok.

When she saw him, she stopped playing and smiled, holding a a finger to her lips with great conspiracy. Amon felt himself smile, and returned the gesture. Likely, neither of them was supposed to be up and about – the ward was quiet, the lights dim. He supposed the girl's playing might wake someone, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to stop.

He would have turned away, but the girl was peering at him with great interest. Her fingers rose to her face, feeling her scars.

"Your scars are much prettier than mine," said Amon softly, bringing his hand to his face as well. There were new ridges over his nose and part of his mouth, still tender, and he let out a low sigh. Apparently he hadn't escaped unscathed. Suddenly self-conscious, he held up a hand in farewell and turned away from the staring girl.

The room adjacent to his was Midori's room; she was sleeping, but looked healthier than she had when they had found her. A wave of gratitude washed over him. She had been such an important person in his life that the thought of losing her was unbearable. At the first opportunity, he decided, he would sit and talk with her, to smooth over any mistrust that lingered after he had used firebending around her. Maybe she could act as a mediator between him and Lee as well.

Asami was in the next room, also asleep. Mako sat in a chair beside the bed, still in his officer's uniform, with his head and arms resting on the mattress. Her hand was tangled in his hair. Amon smiled to himself.

Korra's name was on the label beside the next doorway, and his smile faded. He was suddenly torn. His mind cycled through all that had passed between them. All that they had said to each other before she disappeared. The revelations in the other world. The bombs that had been partly his fault. The loss of their child. His muscles coiled, ready to flee, but he forced himself to shuffle toward the door instead. If the other world had taught him anything, it was that his soul was strong. No more running.

She was awake. Her bed was bent to allow her to sit, and she stared away from him, out the window. Her hands lay palm-up on the covers, almost as if she had been meditating and then distracted. Tangled hair framed her face with waves, and though she was a bit hunched, her colour had returned to normal. She didn't even react to his approach. He could tell her mind was far, far away.

"Korra," he said softly.

She tensed, then turned to look at him, and he saw that her eyes were sunken and distant; the blue was startling against the bruised eye sockets. Her smile stretched across her face. "Amon. You're awake."

He longed to race to her side, but was paralyzed by the thoughts of all he had inflicted on her. Instead, he hovered in the doorway. "How long was I out?"

"Nearly four days. I didn't think you were going to wake up." Her mouth quivered and her gaze dropped. She looked tired, a woman with nothing left to give. "You can come in."

His grief was a noose, tightening with each step he took toward her, and it grew to be so unbearable that he came to a full halt a few paces away. It took him several seconds to squeeze out the words: "How are you?"

"Relieved that you're awake," she whispered, still not looking at him. "Numb. Tired. So tired."

A long silence followed. His eyes traced down her bare arm to her hands; they clenched the bedsheets so tightly that her knuckles were white. He tentatively closed the distance between them. He couldn't find the courage to smooth the tension from her hands, too aware that he was the root cause of every bit of it. Instead, he stood behind her, following her gaze out the window.

"Hi," said a small voice from the doorway, startling them both. They turned and saw the little girl with the flute hugging the door frame, a shy smile on her face. "My name's Selora. What's yours?"

The corners of Korra's lips lifted. "I'm Korra."

Selora's eyes widened. "Are you the Avatar?"

"Yes I am. And this is my friend Zoran."

"Amon," he corrected. At Korra's surprised look, he added softly, "The media is already gossiping about us, and the police are aware of my identity. I might as well reclaim my name now."

The girl pulled away from the doorway, crossed her legs and hugged her flute to her chest. "Thank you for rescuing me in the tunnels, Amon. Can I play a song for you?"

"That would be lovely," he said, feeling a knot tighten in his throat. Maybe music could soothe their pain.

Selora began to play. As the first notes sounded, Amon's knees nearly gave out; he sank to a seat on the bed, fingers tightening into the mattress for support. Suddenly, he was a wee boy in his bed on the farm, the scent of hay and wood and stew rich in the air. His mother smoothed hair away from his face, her eyes crinkling with a smile, her voice slightly off key, but so full of warmth and love that she was the most perfect singer in the world.

" _Close your eyes, child, dragons come, to fly you to their land."_ Korra's voice was soft, as if she were singing to herself.

He turned to her, his mouth cracked open. He hadn't even known she could sing. Two images danced like flames in his mind: his mother's gentle face, now lost from this world, and Korra singing the lullaby to their child who would never be.

Her voice strengthened, clear and beautiful:

" _With breaths of flame and wings of ash that crumble 'neath your hand."_

The weight of the memories and the words and her sweet voice left him unstable. He sagged forward and laid his head on her breast, and she pressed her palm to his cheek, holding him close. Even though he closed his eyes, a tear spilled onto his cheek.

The flute stopped. "He's crying," said the little girl's voice.

"It's okay," said Korra softly.

"You're crying, too."

"It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to stop."

As the music began again, Amon took a soft, shuddering breath.

_"Within your dreams, their riches wait, in silver, diamond, gold,"_  sang Korra.  _"A puff of smoke will carry you into their lands of old."_

The flute stopped. Korra's voice cracked as she said, "Thank you, Selora. That was beautiful. But you should probably get back to bed, okay? We'll talk to you again later."

"Okay," said the girl, and through blurry eyes, Amon saw her leave the room, closing the door behind her.

Korra's hand, soft and warm, smoothed the hair from his forehead. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

"That was a fire nation lullaby," said Korra gently, and he could tell that she had already figured out why it had moved him so much.

He nodded. "My mother used to..." His voice cracked, and he found himself unable to finish the sentence. He pulled away from her and sat up, but laid his hand palm-up on the bed between them. Her hand closed over it, their fingers interlacing.

"The girl, Selora. She looked a bit like-" Korra's head bowed, and she breathed, "Never mind."

He finished the thought in his mind:  _like a combination of us. Like our child._ He wondered if they would be doomed to forever looking for their lost son or daughter in every child they met.

She studied their joined hands. "The doctors confirmed what we already guessed: the herbs caused so much internal bleeding that my body couldn't sustain another life; it could barely sustain my own. And so I lost it. Lost our child."

"I'm sorry," he said, the words sounding too empty for the anguish he felt.

"I know it could never have worked, not the way my life is right now. It's just..." She trailed off.

"You were getting used to the idea."

"Yes."

"So was I," he admitted.

She twisted, her gaze settling out the window, and he did the same. A band of orange light spread along the mountains.

Korra's voice was soft: "The morning sun reaches Observation Mountain before the rest of the city."

The remnants of their past were barely visible from this distance, a ledge that had once been a cave. Amon glanced sideways at Korra, feeling as if they, too, had been blown wide open, nothing left but shattered pieces.

The light spread, and the morning mist that curled off of Yue Bay glowed like flame. The imagery of fog and flame was too fresh in Amon's mind – the fog of the other world, the flames of the base – and he looked away.

"Do you think that it's symbolic that we witnessed that together just now?" asked Korra. "The light creeping across our mountain before any other part of the city. Was it a sign from the spirits, about us?"

"I think that if we keep trying to read what the spirits have to say about us, then we'll go mad," he said. "We need to stop looking for signs from outside and start listening to ourselves instead. And to each other. That was the greatest lesson we learned in the other world."

Her fingers kneaded into his, cold and damp, coiling and recoiling. "And what do you have to say about us?"

"I'm not sure I have the words."

Her voice shrank: "Then it must be bad, because you're such a skilled speaker."

Finally gathering the courage to look at her, he said, "I've never been good with apologies."

"Apologies?" Her eyes searched his.

"I don't have the words to convey how deeply sorry I am for all the pain I have caused us. All of it, from the very beginning, from before we even met. Before either of us were born."

"Amon, you don't have to-"

His teeth clenched. "Yes I do. I saw you, Korra. I truly saw you. When you were holding up the city, I finally understood. You are a goddess, the most powerful being in the world, the physical representation of this planet's life essence. So beautiful and pure. I cannot believe that I dedicated my life – my lives – to try to stop that. To try to end you." His hands were beginning to shake. "When I saw that knife in your chest – when I realized that it was my future self who did that, even though I thought I had come so far, even though I thought I was your lover, your protector... Nothing has ever hurt me so badly as that moment. Nothing has shaken or shamed me more."

"That is why it will never come to pass."

"But it would have, had we not shared that journey together. I was not the man I thought I was."

"You saved my life," she said firmly. "You risked everything by taking those herbs to find and rescue me, in spite of your reservations about my role as the Avatar. Then you risked being burnt and crushed to death to rescue strangers who were your sworn enemies. I don't care who your past lives are, Amon, and I don't care what choices led you to it: you are a hero."

The word made him cringe. "That doesn't change the fact that I once wanted to end you. That I wanted to end bending, and snuff out thousands of lives."

"Because you had convinced yourself it was for the greater good. I think...I think I can forgive that, Amon." Both hands laced with his now. "But you need to forgive it as well."

He looked down at the junction, at once taking in the warmth of her skin, the contrast in the tones and textures of their flesh, the size difference.

When he looked up again, her eyes were red. He reached up to catch one of her tears as it fell. "I thought I had lost you," he said.

"You didn't lose me." The words trembled with her jaw. Her hand slid down his nose, carefully skirting the fresh scar. "But I didn't protect you."

"You gave me my life," he replied. "More times than I can count. What is one more scar?"

"Your beautiful nose."

"It's just flesh."

Her hand drifted lower, resting over his heart. "And the scars here?"

Recognizing the first step of a familiar dance, he said, "They are deeper. Perhaps your kiss can heal them."

She doubled over him and pressed a slow kiss into the centre of his chest. "Does that help?"

"A bit." He tried to force a smile, but it withered on his lips.

"You don't have to pretend to be strong, Amon."

He saw the quiver in her lips, the glassy sheen to her eyes, and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. "Neither do you."

"Then can I ask the question neither of us is asking?" When he nodded, her voice was soft: "Are we going to be okay?"

"Yes," he said, saying the word like a promise. "It will take time and effort, but yes, we will."

"Good. Then I need you to hold me." Her voice faded as she added, "I need to feel that you're here." Gently, she lowered herself back to the bed, pulling him down with her. He shifted to curl beside her, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she pulled the covers over them.

"What comes next?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. The warmth of her body was making him drowsy. "I am fully exposed now. There is no hiding my identity. I suppose it is time for me to face my crimes, and do what I can to serve my punishment." He nuzzled against her forehead, breathing in the scent of her skin.

"I will do everything I can to protect you," she said. "I can vouch for you, and Midori will be able to help as well. Maybe even Tenzin: he's warming to you."

"If they decide to try me for my crimes as Amon, I may be locked away for a very long time."

"I will wait for you."

He shook his head. "I can't ask you to wait."

"Don't you see?" she said. "Even after three years apart, our love for each other never died. My feelings for you can't be extinguished. Besides, I'm the Avatar, so I have a very long life ahead of me – I can afford the time."

He didn't want to admit it, because he knew it was selfish, but his heart soared. "Then maybe we'll see how things proceed. One step at a time."

"One step at a time," she agreed.

Her arm draped around him, and she pressed her front flush with his. The gowns were thin and her body was warm, and his fingers curled into her back. Slowly, it dawned on him that his body was responding in noticeable ways; he pulled away, not wanting to offend her so soon after all she had been through.

Instead, her eyes fixed on his. Her hand began to slide down his chest, his abdomen. He caught her by the elbow and whispered her name to stop her.

"I need to feel close to you," she said. "We've been through so much. I need your touch to ground me. I need to feel intimate."

"So soon after-" He couldn't think of the least traumatizing way to end the sentence. "Don't you need time to heal?"

"I won't be able to have sex for awhile. But I need to feel your hands on my skin. Please, Amon. I want to feel close to you."

He glanced up at the closed door, then down at her tear-lined eyes, and finally at her parted lips, moistened and plump. He traced her lower lip; she just barely took his fingertip into her mouth, biting gently, and warmth flooded his body. Then she leaned closer, his finger falling away as their lips met.

Amon rediscovered her kiss, focused intently on every sensation. His tongue gently grazed her lower lip, then upper, then finally met with hers. Already, he could feel himself losing control over his breaths, their cadence increasing. She groaned into his mouth, quiet enough that he felt the vibration more than heard it, and warmth blossomed through him so abruptly that he shuddered.

His fingers entwined with the hair at the nape of her neck and he pulled her in to deepen the kiss, pleased to hear her whimper in response. His other hand slid down the front of her gown. She arched and gripped his wrist, tugging it lower, then beneath the fabric of her gown. Her aggressiveness was so surprising that his eyebrows shot up.

Her legs opened to give him access, and a wave of heat reached his fingertips; a shiver ran up his spine. Her hand traced the same path down his front, palm firm against his skin, her nails just barely raking him as she moved.

For a moment, he let his hand rest between her legs, giving her the chance to turn him away if it was too much intimacy too soon.

Her forehead pressed against his and her eyes closed, a soft breath leaving her lips: "Please, Amon."

He watched her, breathing her breaths, as his fingers began to gently explore her. Her hand wrapped around him one finger at a time, then slowly began to rock. He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a groan.

Her eyelids parted, and he stared at the sea of blue before him, blurred by their proximity, as their hands moved in unison. He felt a glow seep through his veins, healing all the tension and anxiety and sadness he had been harbouring over the previous few days.

"This pleasure, Korra," he whispered, "these sensations, they're just a fraction of what we are. Every glow, every ache my fingers bring out in you, they are whimpers compared to the way my mind and my heart sing for you. We will get things right, this time. I promise you."

Her breath hitched, and she lunged for him, her kiss urgent. Her hand tightened around him, and her pace quickened. All five senses began to blur; he tasted her pained gasps and felt his own leave his body in bursts beyond his control.

"And I promise you," she whispered, her breath laboured, "that I will do everything I can to protect you. I won't stop until you and I can be a proper couple. Until we can have everything. I want to give you everything." Her eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, spirits, I want to give you everything."

"Together," he breathed, feeling his body begin to sink beneath the waves. "Together, Korra."

"Amon," she gasped, panicked.

Then she arched against him, and he against her, as their pleasure mingled in the space between their mouths.

Slowly, the tension left his muscles and his breaths began to flow again. He caught her mouth in a clumsy kiss, the afterglow making his lips tingle.

Once they had cleaned up and readjusted their robes, she snuggled against him, burying her face in his collarbone

"I should probably return to my room," he said gently. "The nurses might be shocked to find a man in the Avatar's bed."

She shook her head. He could feel her eyelashes moving against his skin, like tiny breaths. "They've seen me by your bedside while you were unconscious. They know what you mean to me. I think they'll give us some privacy."

"You were by my bedside?"

"Of course." Her voice weakened: "Every waking hour. I helped with your healing as well. I'll tell you about that sometime – it's an interesting story."

He pulled her tightly against him. "I am honoured. Thank you."

"You would have done the same for me," she whispered, and he smiled.

"I don't say it enough, Korra, but: I love you."

Her smile mirrored his. "And I love you."

He closed his eyes and, for the first time since before she had left for Ba Sing Se, fell into a warm and comfortable sleep.

.*.*.*.

Mako sat up and stretched, cracking his sore neck. Asami was still asleep, and he smiled to himself, running a knuckle along her jaw. She gave a small hum and shifted, but did not awaken. Although it was getting late in the morning, he decided to let her sleep.

"Excuse me, Officer Mako," said a nurse, stepping in through the door. "Just doing a routine check on her vitals." As she gripped Asami's wrist to feel for a pulse, she said, "Looks like the doctor's going to discharge her today. Her cough might linger for awhile, but the cuts on her arm should heal up just fine now that the infection is gone. And the scarring should be minimal, thanks to that excellent home stitch job she received."

"She'll be happy to hear that," said Mako, smiling.

"Looks like everyone is pulling through okay. Even Mr. Zoran seems to be up and about."

His muscles tensed. "What?"

"I assume so, anyway. He's not in his bed."

With a curse, the officer bolted for the door. "Chief Beifong gave specific instructions that he wasn't to leave the hospital." He bounded into the hall and banked around the door frame into Amon's room. Empty. Cursing again, he ran down the hallway to Korra's room.

The door was closed. A nurse stood outside it, writing on a clipboard. When he reached out to open the door, she stayed his arm and shook her head.

"Give them a little time first, Officer. They've just been reunited."

"He's a wanted criminal," said Mako, twisting the knob. The door opened.

Amon and Korra were in a deep sleep, snuggled beneath the covers. Her face was pressed into his neck, his hand protectively curled around the back of her head. His other arm was draped around her body, pulling her in close. A placid smile stretched across Amon's scarred features.

Mako stared, his mouth open. When he had first heard that Amon and Korra were having an affair, back when they were fighting Tarrlok on the docks, he had pictured a cruel relationship where the man had taken advantage of her youth and inexperience. The tender pose was so loving, so raw and honest that it contradicted everything he had imagined. It made sense, he realized: the Korra he knew was far too strong-willed of a person to be caught in the type of relationship he pictured. He had underestimated both of them.

"Absolutely darling, isn't it?" whispered the nurse, peering in as well. "Smiling in his sleep and everything. I didn't have the heart to wake the poor dears."

Mako realized that he didn't, either.

.*.*.*.

The entire day was filled with people who wanted to talk to Amon – doctors, police officers, nurses. He clung to sleep as long as he could, playing up his fatigue even after the nurses coaxed him out of Korra's room and back to his own, just to put off every discussion for a little longer. By nightfall, however, his body refused to sleep any more, and he was bored with laying in bed. Unfortunately, this was also the time when his fellow patients were just drifting off to sleep, and so visiting with Korra, or Midori, or anyone else was not an option. For a time, he sat by Korra's bedside, watching her sleep, but his recovering muscles twitched with too much nervous energy for him to sit still. He was pacing restless circles in his room when his eyes landed on his mask. It sat by the bedside table, bleeding red circle set against black, and he found himself hating it. The symbol of his own darkness. He snatched it off the table and stormed to the door.

The moon was bright over Yue Bay, the cloudless sky filled with stars, somewhat dulled by the glow of the city compared to the more optimal viewing conditions around the back of Air Temple Island.

Amon followed the lawn of the hospital grounds down to the rocky shoreline. The breeze was chilly, and he thought to himself that he should have brought more clothing with him, but at least he wouldn't be out here long.

He stood on the pebbled beach, the lapping waves kissing his bare toes, and held the mask with both hands, staring down at it. His thumb traced the red streaks of paint, and a shudder ran through him.

He tossed the mask into the ocean.

It bobbed to the surface, and he almost started laughing. He had forgotten that it was wooden; he was too accustomed to porcelain. Seconds later, the lapping waves brought it back to him, nudging it against his feet. He bent over and picked it up, examining the cruel eyes and twisted smirk. "I'm not going to wear you, so stop looking at me like that."

"I didn't realize you actually talked to those things."

Amon spun to see Mako approaching, hands in his pockets. Clearing his throat, Amon said, "Trying to sink the past is often more difficult than one imagines."

"Hiding the evidence?"

Amon shook his head. "I will no longer hide. This was supposed to be a gesture symbolic of catharsis."

"I got the impression you liked wearing a mask."

"I do. This wasn't the right one."

Standing beside him, the officer said, "I know you think you're too good for Team Avatar's aid, but I can help you. Throw it again."

Amon tossed the mask again, and then Mako thrust out a fist. The mask burst into flames, drifting on a sideways current. They stood side-by-side, watching it.

"I suppose I could have done that myself, were I still a firebender," said Amon quietly.

Mako glanced at him. "Korra could always give you back-"

"No. Why are you here?" Amon clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the officer, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm here to warn you not to leave town," said Mako. "As soon as you're well enough, we're going to take you in for questioning. You have many charges against you, charges that will be revived now that you have been confirmed alive. Korra and the Council are sure to push back, but we have a strong case against you. I've been compiling evidence for a few years now."

"I imagine you'll get quite the promotion out of this," said Amon.

The officer smirked. "Yeah, probably." He picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. It smacked into the burning mask on the water, nudging it. "Asami has a lot to say about you. She won't stop talking about how you stitched her arm, and reacted to Tarrlok's bombs, and orchestrated the entire rescue operation; you seriously impressed her. Like Korra, she's convinced that your actions during your 'revolution' were altruistic, at their base." With a sideways glance, he added, "All of this together could form a strong defensive position once your crimes go to trial."

Amon watched the last flames die on the surface of the water. "They are not wrong, but I abused my power. I chased my goals with such single-mindedness that I became the very monster I was hoping to combat. The power was in me to change the world, and I abused it." He finally met the other's gaze, and there was surprise in the officer's yellow eyes, so he added: "You are startled by my honesty."

Looking away, Mako said, "If you were to have all charges dropped, if you were to be granted the life of a normal citizen: what would you do next?"

"Empower non-benders, the right way," said Amon, standing tall. "I would resign from the Council, as I am far too partial to be a good public servant – perhaps I could act as a consultant, or even a mercenary, if needed, but that is it. Instead, I would set up a self-defense school, like the one I ran during my absence from the city." A smile tugged at his lips. "I would marry the woman I love, build a home and a family. And after a long life of sharing my knowledge with the world instead of spreading fear, I would depart this world, a ripple in the history books rather than a bloodstain marring its pages."

Mako stared across the water for a long time. Then he turned and walked away without a word.

Even though it was still cold, Amon stood and stared across the bay a little while longer, warmed by the thoughts of the future he hoped to achieve.

.*.*.*.

Mako barely greeted the officer at the front desk. He stormed down the hallway to his office, closing the door behind him. Box after box of evidence against Amon was stacked on his desk. He gripped a folder of files and began to flip through it, and his hand froze; it was the file on Amon's relationship with Korra, the one that contained photos and transcripts of their trysts from Tarrlok's day. He quickly slammed the folder shut, not wanting to intrude on Korra's privacy, but the photos of the two locked in an embrace were still vivid in his mind. He sank onto the chair.

For three years now, ever since his introduction into the force, he had been compiling evidence against Amon, his own pet project. Asami thought it was a side-effect of his hyper-protective nature, that he couldn't stand the idea of Korra being involved with the enemy, and that he was wrongly tapping into his anger at his parent's murderers. He had always tried to tell himself that this project was his key to success, that successfully tracking down and locking away Amon would be his career-defining move. The others bought the idea that Amon was dead, but Mako knew better than that: he saw the wistful look in Korra's eyes whenever she stared across the water, heard her little sighs whenever the Equalists came up in conversation. Mako was familiar enough with death to know true mourning when he saw it; what Korra mourned was not a death. He had built up his evidence and built up Amon in his mind at the same time, ready to strike should the monster ever return.

He had not expected the monster to be a normal man.

The purpose of prison, he firmly believed, was to rehabilitate. To let criminals stew in the error of their ways so that some of them might learn from it while the others rotted. What could prison teach a man who was already repentant?

Flame burst to life in his hand, and he held it toward the file.

"I wouldn't do that, Officer," said Chief Beifong's voice from outside the door. Mako swore and doused the flame, slamming the folder onto the desk. Lin swung open the door and stepped into the room, re-shaping the metal boot around her bare foot: that was how he knew she had used vibrations in the metal to see everything.

"I didn't expect you to be here, ma'am," said Mako, guilt knotting his stomach.

"Councillor Midori has me chasing down a few special favours for her. I swear, that woman is going to be the death of me." Lin folded her arms over her chest. "If I saw that right, you were about to tamper with evidence. I'm pretty sure that basic training covers the fact that evidence tampering is a crime."

The officer fell back into his chair, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry." His hands fidgeted on the surface of the desk. "I spent all this time building a case against a man, and now I'm not sure it's a case I want to press ahead with."

Lin lifted the file he had been examining and opened it. Her eyes fixed on the photos. "You don't think he should pay the price for his crimes?"

"I think he already has," said Mako. "In a way. And I think most of his crimes never actually came to pass."

"There's a better way to do this. The political machine will take care of him, and you can help that along by sharing this evidence with Korra and Councillor Midori so that they can negotiate conditions of exoneration. Destroying the evidence, however, will only hurt everyone involved, including you."

The officer bowed his head, ashamed. "I acted rashly."

"We all have, from time to time." Lin gave a terse smile. "This didn't happen."

"Thank you," he said quietly. He stood and walked past her, shoulders drooping. He had almost thrown everything away, on an instinct that might not even be right.

Perhaps she read his thoughts, because she surprised him by clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "You did a good job out there, Officer. Your reactions to the imminent collapse set you head and shoulders above your peers. Trust your instincts, and you'll go far."

He felt himself smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

Lin nodded. "Now go home to your wife-to-be. You've both been through a traumatic experience, and you need each other." Her hand pressed into the folder, her brows pinched. "If there's one thing you can learn from Amon and Korra in all this, it's that love is more important than a career. Love should bring out the best in the other person, not the worst. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't," said Mako, and he meant it.

 


	16. XV: What Was Gained

**XV**

**What Was Gained**

_Three months later._

Amon stepped out of the taxi, taking in his surroundings with awe. The forest was thick with silver-trunked trees, their autumn leaves gold and orange and red. The breeze through the branches and the gentle calls of birds reminded him of his teenaged years, and he took a deep breath of sweet forest air. The paved road faded to cobblestone ahead, leading through a black rectangular wooden arch. Jinora perched atop it, Bolin and Asami at its sides, as the three worked to drape a string of orange flowers around the dark wood. As Amon approached, all three of them looked up. Asami grinned and hurried forward, brushing dust from her palms.

"Amon! Welcome." She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Where's Korra?"

"I received a telegram last night informing me that the return ship was delayed."

Asami's face fell. "She's going to be back in time for tomorrow, right?"

With a nod, he said, "Even if she has to bend the water to make the ship go faster. How are the preparations?"

"Oh, you know." The woman tried to wave it off, but Amon caught the tremble in her voice. "I have some great help- Hey! Stop that." She turned to run at Bolin and Jinora, who had started to throw flower petals at each other instead of sprinkling them neatly on the ground.

Once her two friends had been chastised and, with sheepish blushes, returned to work, Asami led Amon through the arch. The pathway twisted around a bend and opened up to a broad resort with rolling green lawn, a manicured rock garden and dozens of red-and-gold huts with pagoda roofs. At the resort's centre was the hot spring, a tiny lake so brilliant that it seemed to glow aqua, with stone structures and ferns lining its borders.

"You and Korra will be in the other honeymoon suite," said Asami, shooting him a grin. "You'll have your own private spring in there, and complimentary sparkling wine."

"Miss Sato, you didn't have to-"

"I know, but Pema and Tenzin wanted a room they could share with the boys, and I'm not sticking my grandparents there. You're the next lengthiest relationship out of any of our friends. Just accept it." She led him to one of the huts and opened the door. Inside was a small spring, just large enough for two people, and the largest bed that Amon had ever seen.

"Are you sure we can't offer you any money for this?" he asked.

She shook her head no. "Save your money for legal fees. This is our treat."

"Thank you," he said humbly, lugging his suitcase through the door.

"I should warn you again," she said, "the media will be covering the wedding. We have a few of the newspapers already camping out at the ceremony grounds."

Amon nodded. While there were murmurs of his return, he had yet to do a formal press conference, and so most coverage of him had been restricted to gossip columns and court reports. At the wedding, he was going to be on Korra's arm, openly addressed by his proper name: no doubt the media were going to converge on him.

"I will remind them of the true meaning of the day," he said. "I am not troubled by the media, but I don't want to steal any of your limelight."

Asami laughed and waved it off. "Please, I'm glad to have another distraction. I'm not comfortable being a media darling."

"Republic City's most successful businesswoman marrying one of its most promising young officers? I'm afraid your marriage is doomed to be celebrated," he said. "I will be sure to remind them that you and Officer Mako are the true headline, not me."

With a few final instructions for the following day, Asami closed the door, leaving him alone in the room.

Korra's bridesmaid's dress hung on a hook on the wall, and he approached it, then ran the soft green-and-brown silk between his fingers. A gold pattern scrolled along the fabric, so faint that it was almost invisible: flowers and swirls. The neck was high, with an asymmetrical fold over the breasts and a narrow waist band, flaring into a long, loose skirt. The sleeves were long, but the shoulders and back were bare. He smiled, already visualizing it clinging to her frame.

While he waited for her arrival, he unpacked his suitcase, carefully storing his belongings in the closet and drawers. A black velvet box, like the one he had given her three months earlier, sat at the bottom of the suitcase. His fingers ran across the textured surface as he debated the most appropriate time to present it to her. Before the ceremony, perhaps, so that she had some jewelry to wear; the cuff he had given her before was now associated with bad memories for both of them. He hid the box in the bottom of a drawer.

With nothing left to do but wait, he helped himself to a few of the chocolate-dipped strawberries on the counter and lay back on the bed with a history book.

He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until he heard giggles from outside the hut. There was no mistaking Korra's laugh, childlike and boisterous, a stark contrast to Asami's soft chuckle. Sitting up, he saw that the sun had already set; he turned on the bedside lamp and tried to quell the drumbeat in his chest.

"See you tomorrow, Asami," said Korra's voice. The door swung open. Her hair was down, hanging loose about her shoulders and face, and she wore a long-sleeved blue top and a skirt. Each hand held a suitcase, and a bag was draped awkwardly around her torso. As she stepped over the threshold, she smiled shyly at him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hi, Amon," she said.

He marched over to her and shoved a hand above her head to shut the door, simultaneously swooping in to cover her mouth with his. His hands caught her jaw and he forced her against the door. She groaned and melted into the kiss; her bags thudded to the ground.

Then he released her, leaving her gasping for air. "Welcome back."

Her eyes fluttered closed, a grin on her face. "Six weeks, Amon."

"The longest six weeks of my life." He grabbed her jaw for another kiss, gentler this time, then bent to grab her luggage. "Where is Naga?"

"Jinora and Ikki's room, though Jinora wasn't." An eyebrow cocked. "I think I saw her deep in conversation with Bolin down by the spring."

"A blooming romance, perhaps?" He neatly stacked her bags against the wall.

"I hope so. I've been trying to set them up for months." She flopped onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. "I wish you could have come with me; at least then I could have had a little fun. Southern Water Tribe politics are even duller than Republic City politics. Though I got to spend the entire autumn festival with my family, which was amazing. Mom and Dad are anxious to meet you. Though I think Dad's a little suspicious of you."

"Next time, I'll join you," he said, and she sat up, her face bright.

"What do you mean?"

He smiled. "All the charges have been settled. There's still a bit of paperwork to do, and I have to regularly check in with the police for the next few years so they can track my movements, but I won't have to spend any time in prison."

She let out a whoop and jumped at him, wrapping her arms around his neck; he caught her by the waist and staggered backwards a few steps.

"Does that mean you can open up your school?" she asked.

With a nod, he said, "I'm already working through the property arrangements with Miss Sato."

"That is amazing news, Amon. I'm so happy for you." She pressed a kiss to his cheek before he set her back on the floor. "I've been thinking: I want to be a student in your first class."

A surge of gratitude flooded him. "Are you certain?"

"Definitely. I'll be the first Avatar to learn to chi-block. Besides, what better way to show the world that you are trustworthy, to demonstrate that we're bridging the gap between non-benders and benders?" Her finger tapped the sharp point of his nose, a familiar gesture, but then her face collapsed. She traced the new burn scar down the side of his nose to the top of his lip. "It didn't heal."

"It will fade," he said, shrugging it off.

"But this scar is my fault. I didn't protect you."

"It's a badge of honour. A reminder of the spiritual journey we undertook, of the way we fought side-by-side to save the city." Like the faint lightning scars on his arms, it would remind him of the man he had been, and of the man he planned to become. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in her scent. "You must be tired after your travels, so let's relax. We have our own private spring and a bottle of sparkling wine, and I saved you a chocolate-dipped strawberry or two." He glanced at the nearly-empty plate beside the bed. "Well, one."

As she disrobed, he politely turned away, pretending to be preoccupied with pouring the glasses of wine. He wanted more than anything to watch her undress, but he could feel a lingering shyness between them, so, at least initially, he would let her control the pace. The first few weeks of her recovery had been fraught with complications from the miscarriage; while they hadn't been chaste, certain types of intimacy were not possible. And then, just as she was healing physically and they were beginning to work past any lingering emotional scars, the Council had requested that she participate in the diplomatic mission to the South Pole. He didn't want to assume that the six week journey had been enough time for her to be ready, physically and psychologically, for sex, but he was hopeful.

The scent of the sparkling wine turned his stomach – he still wasn't quite over his horrible experience with alcohol three months earlier – but he forced a small sip and found it pleasant enough. Fizzy and sweet. He carried both glasses and the bottle to Korra, who had already slipped into the spring and dunked her head under the surface, a child of the water.

"Is that all for me?" she asked cheekily.

"Of course. You have to practice for tomorrow."

She groaned, her head lolling back. "Don't remind me. If I had known, I would never have agreed to this." With the mixed heritages of the bride and groom, the wedding, while heavily influenced by Fire Nation tradition, had some elements of Earth Kingdom culture shaping it as well. This included the tradition of toasting. Unbeknownst to Korra, the expectation was that the bridesmaid and groomsman would take the majority of the toasts on behalf of the bride and groom to leave the married couple clear-headed and dignified. Korra had even less drinking experience than Amon, and he wondered how she was going to cope.

She caught the stem of one of the glasses and clinked hers against his. "I'd like to propose a toast," she said. "Since it seems that's what people around here do when they drink."

He waited. She took a sip.

"Toasts generally have words in them," he said.

She shrugged. "Where I come from, people yell 'cheers' and down shots. I'm meeting you halfway here."

He chuckled and held up his glass. "To new beginnings."

"Yes," she said. "Now take off your clothes and get in here. It's been far too long since I last saw you naked."

He supposed that answered his question about whether or not she was psychologically ready for intimacy. He disrobed and quartered his tunic, tossing it on the dresser, then quickly picked up her scattered robes as well and did the same. Once nude, he slipped into the spring beside her.

The warm water wrapped around him, the liquid slippery with minerals, and he let out a low groan as he sagged into it.

"Nice, isn't it?" She sculled the water to close the distance between them. The rock had been carved into a makeshift bench inside the spring, and they sat side by side. Her leg was soft and slick against his. The magnetism between them was undeniably strong; even now, when he was trying to be a gentleman, the urge to climb on top of her was engulfing his senses. His hand gripped her knee, enjoying the smooth texture of the minerals coating her submerged skin. For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Glancing at her stiff body, he realized she was shy. For a moment, they held each other's gaze, but then she looked away.

"This is ridiculous. Why am I nervous?" she asked. "I feel like it's my first time – no, worse. I wasn't nearly this shy then."

"Well, your first time was a little unusual. Or unceremonious, at least." After a pause, he added, "I wish I could redo that moment with you, Korra. Make it as special as it should have been."

"Are you kidding? Does it get any more special than finding love with your mortal enemy?"

"I suppose you have a point."

"Besides," she said, "I purposefully didn't tell you. If you had known, you probably wouldn't have done it. And I really wanted to sleep with you."

His brows shot up. "Is that so?"

"I had a pretty substantial crush on you by that point." Her cheeks darkened.

"Is that so?" he said again, too surprised to find new words.

"Still do," she murmured, staring bashfully at the surface of the water.

Amon caught her chin and turned her head, leaning down to capture her lips with his. After a series of slow, gentle pecks, her mouth parted and their tongues met. He pulled away to take in her flushed cheeks and glowing blue eyes.

"Are you ready for this, Korra?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I put in the protection already, so we're...we're okay."

"I will try to be gentle, but..." He leaned forward for another kiss, and ended up lingering, tasting her. When he finally pulled away, he said, "Please stop me if I get too aggressive."

The corner of her lips lifted. "Same to you."

Feeling an overwhelming urge to linger, to savour their reunion and make it as special for both of them as he could, Amon reached for the wine. He took a mouthful, then kissed her, letting the wine roll across their tongues. Some of it dribbled down their chins and onto her breasts, which were bobbing and slick on the surface of the water; he bent to kiss them, lapping up the wine. She hummed and stretched her limbs, a sure sign that his attention was affecting her. His tongue slid up to her neck, and he nuzzled there, suckling at her flesh until she cried out. Her hand raked into his hair so fiercely that his restraint dissipated, and all he could feel was the need to merge with her, to consume her. He sucked and bit a trail along her neck. She writhed and moaned as if he were between her legs instead, and he was grateful that the hot water was dulling his arousal, because it was difficult enough to hold himself back as it was. She twisted her head to nibble at his neck as well, her teeth harsh against his skin.

Then she straddled his lap, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grabbing her hips and grinding into her. Instead, he kissed her throat, tongue sliding down her trachea and then across her collarbone, down to her breast. He breathed cool air onto the nipple; she arched at him, trying to force it into his mouth.

"Tease," she scolded, pulling away to glare. He grinned and rested his hands on her hips, feeling the firm muscle there. For a moment, they watched each other.

"Korra, I want you to-" he began, but his mouth suddenly filled with cotton. He shook his head, frustrated that he couldn't even manage to choke out the request. "I was hoping to sweep you off your feet with my suaveness, and I feel like a fumbling teenager."

"Here. This will help." She reached for the wine and handed him his glass, holding out hers. "A toast." After a moment to consider, she added, "To sex."

He chuckled. "Well said." Their glasses clinked, then he drained his glass.

"So, what were you saying?" she asked, filling his glass again.

When he didn't respond, she added, "You were going to say that you wanted something." Her body squirmed against his, slick against his chest and abdomen, and he felt a low rumble leave his throat. "More kisses, perhaps?" She took a mouthful of the liquid and set their glasses aside. This time, she brought wine to his lips, letting it fall between them as they kissed, and she caught either side of his jaw with her hands.

He couldn't tell if it was the wine or her kisses making him so lightheaded. His inhibitions were already melting away, and he tried to use it to his advantage, to gather his courage to say what needed to be said. The instant there was a break in the kisses, he forced out the words: "I want you to use bending."

She pulled away, eyes wide, hands still holding his chin.

"I want you to use bending, Korra," he said, holding her gaze. A tiny part of him screamed in protest, but he buried it. If he was going to be with her, if they were going to avoid the future they had seen, then he was going to have to get over his misplaced hatred.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"You're the Avatar: it's a part of who you are." He smoothed a slick strand of hair from her face. "I love you, Korra. All of you."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "Then I should accept all of you as well, Amon. I don't know if there are any techniques involving chi points-"

He pressed three points on her abdomen, and her breath escaped in a blast, goosebumps erupting across her flesh.

"I see," she breathed. "Spirits. Why did you never show me that before?"

"I got the impression that you weren't fully comfortable with chi-blocking."

"True." Her eyes narrowed. "But you'd better brace yourself. The things I can do with bending-"

"It isn't a competition, Korra," he said with a chuckle, trying to ignore the shivers that ran down his spine, not all of them comfortable. "I'd prefer if you went a bit easy on me, at first. I need time to adapt to the idea."

"Of course. We'll start with a kiss." She stood, then reached out a hand to guide him to his feet. Pulling him flat against her, she tugged his chin down, finding his lips with hers.

The water around them began to move. It swirled against Amon's skin, sliding against it as if licking it, hot and wet and smooth. The sound of roaring water filled his ears, and spray misted his body. He broke the kiss and opened his eyes. Korra was moving the water in a globe around them, its centre filling faintly with steam. Overhead, the water was thin and smooth, like glass, and he pressed his fingertips into it, interrupting the stream in four streaks that closed together once he withdrew. He looked down at Korra, at her brilliant eyes, bright smile, at the condensation dripping down her hair and skin, and he felt so much awe that his throat tightened. He kissed her, sequestered from the world in their globe of water, the roaring flow around them only half as loud as the racing heartbeat in his ears.

Then the water around his lower body began to massage and tug at him, and his groan interrupted their kiss.

"Does that feel good?" she asked, part seductive, part tentative, and he nodded, gripping her shoulder to keep himself upright. A breeze slid around them, raising goosebumps, and her kisses were blazing hot on his chest.

"This is you going easy on me?" he breathed, and she grinned at him.

"You have no idea what bending can do for you."

Realizing that he was taking all of her attention and giving none in return, he slid his hand between her legs and jabbed two chi points – unfortunately, with too much enthusiasm.

Korra hollered and collapsed against him. Her concentration broken, the water globe imploded around them; it drenched them both, splashed outside the spring and flooded their wine glasses.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and hair sopping wet, mouth hanging open. He couldn't help himself: he laughed.

"Yes, very funny, Amon." She whirled her hands to retrieve the spilled water, then splashed it over his head so hard that he lost his footing and fell against the bench, sputtering.

"I think you've had a little too much to drink," she said with mock-grumpiness.

Still chuckling a bit, he rubbed the water out of his eyes. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not. It was just abrupt. You're going to need to build the next one better than that."

"The next one? Ah." He cleared his throat, chiding himself for his own enthusiasm.

She cocked a brow at him. "Let's take this to the bed – a little less messy there." As she tried to climb out of the spring, her body wobbled. "Oh, spirits. Maybe I've had a little too much to drink as well."

He stood and held out a hand, the two of them climbing out together. "You're going to need to handle more than that tomorrow."

"Don't remind me." She pulled the water off their bodies, looped it into a ball and splashed it back into the spring. Then she grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the bed and pushed him onto it.

She fell on top of him, skin against skin, and suddenly the smile faded from his face as a rush of hormones flooded his mind. Her breath, unnaturally hot and then cold, slid down his chest and abdomen, and then her mouth engulfed him, the changes in temperature making him claw into the sheets.

"Swing your body around," he said.

She complied and rotated, one leg on either side of his head, and he buried his face between her thighs, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her taste, her scent and the sensations from her mouth were overwhelming, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hang on. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop his hips from rocking even though she tried to stay them with her hands. He pulled his face free and gasped for her to stop. He didn't want this to end yet, not so soon.

Korra gave a final teasing hum and then broke away, leaving his body cold.

He lay on his back, eyes travelling the length of her body as she straddled him. Her hands blazed heat as they ran down his chest, his abdomen. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him. His heart ached as he saw her face twist in pain, and he realized that she had probably worn the same expression in the darkness when they had first made love, years earlier. The thought that she had been so uncomfortable and he had been oblivious broke his heart.

He caught her hips. "At your pace," he said quietly, understanding that it had been a long time, and that there were psychological barriers to overcome. This time, he was going to do everything right.

Her smile wobbled. "Always such a considerate lover." Her fingers twined with his on her hips, and he felt her begin to relax. He watched protectively as she slowly began to rock. His thumb swirled around a chi point just inside her hip bone, grazing the skin. A shiver ran through her, and her fingers coiled tightly around his. Intrigued by the intensity of her reaction, he began to mirror the motion on the other hip. Her head rolled back and she panted his name. His thumbs massaged a little harder, carefully increasing the flow of energy, and soon she was grinding against him, her flushed face strained and beautiful, so beautiful.

Then her eyelids parted, and her eyes, blue and clear, held his; for one brief second, her eyes glowed white, and then she cried out and writhed and shuddered. His fingers curled into her flesh, anchoring himself so that he didn't get pulled under with her.

And then she collapsed on top of him, her skin warm and damp, her breaths slowing. He kissed the top of her head and combed her hair with his fingers.

"The build-up was a little better on that one?" he asked, and her laugh vibrated his chest.

"Much." It sounded as if she wanted to add more, but was too breathless.

"Need a minute?"

She shook her head no, weakly pushing herself onto one elbow, and nipped at the underside of his chin. "How do you want me?" The words never failed to make him ache for her.

"I'm torn." He ran a hand down her spine. "I want to worship your beautiful back, but then I won't be able to see your face."

"If only we had a mirror." A smile suddenly stretched across her mouth. She sat up and moved her hands in an arc, and a ball of water lifted from the spring; it stretched out before her as she formed it into a sheet of ice, carefully standing it beside the bed. Amon stared into the reflective surface, speechless.

A brow cocked, she turned to him. "That should solve your dilemma."

"I'm beginning to see how bending could be a versatile tool in the bedroom."

"You don't know the half of it." She lay down on her stomach, her knees bent and ankles crossed in the air, presenting her muscled back for admiration. He tried to continue the slow pace they had been building, dragging his tongue down her spine, but by the time he reached one of the dimples at her lower back, he had lost all patience.

Gripping her shoulder, he rolled her onto her side and spooned behind her. She helped him into position, their eyes locked through the reflection in the ice. He shuddered and held still, waiting for his body to adjust to hers.

"I'm not going to be able to last very long," he rasped.

With a gentle nod, she said, "Then let yourself lose control."

But he couldn't, not yet; he still wanted to stretch out the enjoyment for as long as he could. As they rocked together, he draped an arm around her, gently cupping her breast. The ice's reflection made her eyes even bluer, and they stared through him, her mouth barely open, trying to draw him in, inhale him, merge with him.

His control vanished.

His other arm drove underneath her body so that he could embrace her, pulling her flat against him. Then her hands closed tightly over his and her legs reached back to twist with his, and suddenly they were a tangle of limbs, thrusting and counter-thrusting. He pressed his face into her hair to muffle his rising moans as all other senses began to mute except for touch, the heat and softness and slickness beginning to overwhelm him. He kept his eyes open until the last possible second, watching her watch him in the reflective surface.

Then his eyes screwed shut, as undeniably instinctive as the cries that left his mouth, and he frantically pulled out and crushed her back against him.

He tried to open his eyes again, but they were too heavy. Instead, he planted a soft kiss to the back of her head, panting softly into her hair.

.*.*.*.

As his breaths slowed and his embrace relaxed, Korra smiled. After several lazy minutes in his embrace, she stretched out a limp hand, melting the ice and flicking the water back into the spring.

"Amon?" she whispered, but his breaths were so deep that she realized he had fallen asleep. Even worming her way out of his tangled grip didn't wake him. She chuckled to herself and sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the hair from his damp forehead. His face was so perfectly relaxed that he looked young and peaceful, almost childlike. She couldn't reconcile this innocent face with the masked man who had once paralysed her with fear. They had both been such different people then.

Grabbing her smallest travel bag, she crept to the bathroom and closed the door, then turned on a light. The folded paper that came with her birth control was tucked neatly into a pocket. She pulled it out and read it for what had to be the fiftieth time, making sure she had understood the instructions correctly. Six hours to wait, at least, before she took it out, just as she had remembered. Maybe after a few months, when it had proven it was working, she'd trust it enough that they wouldn't have to break apart at the last second anymore.

As her head lifted, she saw herself in the mirror, and a quiver of panic ran through her. Love bites were peppered across her neck, spilling onto her shoulders. Stepping back into the room, she saw that Amon's neck wasn't in much better shape. She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. Between that and their noise level, the whole resort was going to know several intimate details about their love life.

Settling back into place beside Amon, she murmured, "We really aren't very good at keeping our personal lives private."

"To be fair," rumbled Amon, eyes still closed, "our lives are unusually public, so we're starting out with a disadvantage."

"I didn't realize you were awake." She raised a brow. "Apparently, I wore you right out."

He rolled onto his back, stretching his limbs. "I didn't mean to pass out; it was just..." He trailed off, and at first she thought he had fallen back to sleep, but then she realized he was at a loss for words. His hand fell onto her thigh and gently squeezed, and even that innocent gesture made her limbs tingle.

"Up for another round?" she asked.

He nodded, his eyelids finally parting. "Yes, but I need a few more minutes."

"That timing will be perfect. I have something for you." She reached for her suitcase and pulled out a hat box tied with a red ribbon. As she handed it to Amon, he sat up, brows pinched. She eased onto the bed beside him, smiling. "Open it."

As he undid the ribbon and lifted the lid, she watched his face, waiting to see if he would catch the symbolism. A porcelain mask identical to his old one, but pure white: the way it had looked when the spirit had first saved his life as a boy, before his destiny had marked it with red and gold. A symbol of rebirth, of potential. By the glassiness of his eyes and the tremble in his hands as he lifted it from the tissue paper, she knew he understood.

He pressed it to his face. "It fits."

Shrugging off his awe, she said, "I know the black one fit your face pretty well, and Asami still had a copy of it." Tracing down its nose, she added, "It's entirely up to you if you want to add markings to it – markings you choose yourself."

He lowered the mask to examine it again. "I like the plain white: the promise of a future to be written. Hope." His eyes closed, and he smiled, as if savouring the moment. "It isn't long ago that I never thought I would feel hope again. Thank you, Korra. Sincerely." He leaned over to kiss her.

A bit shy, she ran a finger down his chest. "Well, it is partly a selfish gift. There are certain expectations that come with it. Certain occasions where I might like you to wear it, if you're interested." Her cheeks burned.

He cocked his brows at her and buckled the mask into place, then pushed her against the bed and loomed over her. His voice dropped in pitch: "Well then, Young Avatar, we had best get started."

.*.*.*.

A knock spurred Amon awake; he rolled out of bed, clutching his head. It felt as if he hadn't slept at all, and as he glanced at the clock, he realized that wasn't far from the truth. "Hello?"

"Wake-up call," said Asami's voice. "Korra needs to be at my hut in half an hour."

"Thank you, Miss Sato. I will let her know." He reached over to turn on the lamp. Korra was still passed out beside him, front side down and legs splayed, drooling on her pillow. Her hair was so matted that he pitied the person who had to style it. As he lifted a tangle of hair to tuck it behind her ear, he saw a cluster of dark marks on her neck; he smoothed them with his fingers, wondering if her healing powers extended to love bites.

She nuzzled into the pillow. "I don't want to get up."

"You're awake?"

"Barely." She rolled onto her back, her eyelashes cracking open. "My everything hurts."

"A soak in the spring should help with that."

"I was bragging, not complaining, but that's not a bad idea." Cocking a brow – the effect more comical than alluring when combined with her drooping eyes – she added, "Care to join me?"

A spasm travelled through his entire lower body at the thought. "As appealing as that is, I need a little more time to recuperate, and you are on a time limit."

With a playful pout, she stood, raking her hand into her hair, then frowned as her fingers met resistance. "My hair…"

"Your neck is in far worse shape, I'm afraid."

She shook her head and lowered herself into the spring. "Asami isn't going to be impressed."

Amon watched out of the corner of his eye as she began to swirl the spring water around her body; he retrieved the empty wine bottle from the floor and set it on the counter, then began to fold the articles of clothing scattered around the room. As he set his pants into the drawer, his hand brushed against the velvet box he had hidden there. He glanced back at Korra. While he liked the idea of giving her jewelry to wear with her finery, no doubt Asami had some coordinated jewelry already picked out.

Instead, he moved to the closet to find his suit. With coattails, a hood and a high collar, the suit was similar to his usual wear, but this jacket was single-breasted, with long sleeves and pants, tailored at the waist instead of cinched. The tailor had protested when he had requested a hood, saying that it ruined the line of the garment, but it was non-negotiable. Amon was not yet comfortable walking around with his face fully exposed.

And now he didn't have to. He lifted the mask Korra had given him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Korra surprised him by sneaking up behind him and kissing his shoulder blade. "I'm going to ask Asami's stylists to help me with my hair. I give up." She tugged her pants over her legs, jerked her shirt over her head, and then grabbed her dress from the hook on the wall. "I'll see you at the ceremony."

He crossed over to her in two strides, gripped her jaw and gave her a long, deep kiss. She was breathless when he pulled away, her eyes shining.

"You will be stunning," he said.

She beamed at him, then hurried out the door.

As he stepped into the spring, he caught his reflection in the mirror, touching his marred neck. Maybe his mask and suit would effectively cover the marks.

And that was why, an hour later, he turned up on Midori's doorstep. She opened the door, and her eyes widened.

"Zoran?"

"Amon," he corrected.

"Your neck," she said.

"Our skin tones are similar – I don't suppose you have anything that might cover this?"

She opened the door. "Come in."

As he stepped into the room, he was surprised to see his former lieutenant sitting in the corner, clad only in the pants he had slept in. "Lee?" He turned to Midori. "Are you two-?"

The Councillor laughed. "Oh spirits, no. It was just cheaper to share a room; he's sleeping on the couch. I'm going to be helping Lee network with some of Republic City's upper class, help him get back on his feet."

Amon gave his former lieutenant a nod, but the man looked away. As Midori disappeared into the bathroom to retrieve her makeup, he walked up to the Lee and stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm a non-bender now, Lee. Korra agreed to take away my firebending." The man still wouldn't look at him, so he added, "I hear you're looking for a job."

Wary blue eyes focused on him. Amon continued: "I'm in the process of opening a school to teach martial arts, to empower non-benders I will, of course, be able to teach evasion and chi-blocking, but I have always been relatively weak with weapon combat. Your skills with kali sticks have no equal."

There was a pause. "I'm not so bad with a sword, either," murmured Lee.

"Agreed. I would be honoured to work with you again, to bring about equality, but in a legal way this time. Take some time to consider it."

He could tell by Lee's nod that the man was already warming to the idea.

"Bend down," said Midori, approaching with a small vial in hand. He hunched and removed his hood, giving her access to his neck. She frowned and dabbed the makeup onto his skin. "Goodness. We thought the noises we heard last night were wild boar-q-pines fighting in the woods, but now I'm beginning to wonder."

Amon felt his cheeks warm.

"I guess this is why you shouldn't let an airbender kiss your neck," added Midori. "Too much suction."

"Is this commentary necessary?"

"Yes," she said, but she stopped.

As she tilted his chin to access the other side of his neck, he said, "Did you bring Selora with you?"

In response, Midori turned to nod at a small purple suitcase on the bed, embellished with a rainbow. "She's off playing with Meelo and Rohan while the grown ups get ready. You'll see her at the ceremony; she's excited to see you again. She won't stop talking about the man who saved her life." With a smirk, she added, "And then blubbered like a baby when she played the flute for him at the hospital."

He was grateful that the mask hid his blush. "It was a single tear, at most."

"I may have embellished it in my mind for my own entertainment." She finished dabbing at his skin and stepped away. "There, that should do it. You might need a touch up later in the evening." As she screwed the cap back on the vial, she said, "So I guess today is the day the last of your secrets become public."

"Most of them," he said. "I will do what I can to keep some of my personal history cloaked in mystery. The public does not need to know all the details."

She shook her head. "Part of me is going to miss cleaning up your messes, after all these years." Softer, she added, "You should come by and visit sometime."

He studied her evasive posture. "I didn't think you would welcome my company."

"Of course I would," she said quietly. "Firebender or not, you paved the way for the causes I believed in, made Republic City what it is today. And more than that, Amon, you are the son I never had."

The words caught him off guard, and he had to clear his throat against a sudden tightness.

Then she turned and marched back to the bathroom with the vial. "Lee and I need some time to prepare, but we will see you at the ceremony."

He thanked her, then gave a quick nod to Lee and departed.

.*.*.*.

As Amon walked past Asami's hut a few minutes later, he saw that Jinora sat on the doorstep, hair in rag curlers, Naga's head in her lap. Behind her, the door was propped open; Korra sat on a stool facing away from him, while a hairdresser clucked and fought to comb through her tangles.

"Hello, Amon," said Jinora, and he could tell by the squint in her eyes that she was sizing him up. Naga lifted her head to regard him. For all his time with Korra, he hadn't spent much time with her animal companion, and the polar bear dog's posture was aloof.

"Is that Amon?" came Asami's voice, shrill, from inside the room. She marched to the door, hands on her hips. "What the hell did you do to Korra? Try to eat her? Do you know how much makeup it's going to take to cover her neck?"

He held her gaze. "I worked with Midori for more than a decade, Miss Sato, so I am immune to scolding. And for the record, I wasn't the only willing party."

"She's already gotten her scolding." The woman huffed, but he could tell the situation amused her. "Can you keep an eye on Naga while we get ready? Jinora is going to be a chalice holder, so we need to start working on her hair as well."

Amon stared warily at the animal. "I don't know if Naga trusts me yet."

"She'll be fine," called Korra from inside the room. "She's certainly smelled you on me enough times."

Jinora's nose wrinkled. "I really didn't need that mental image."

Still reluctant, Amon patted his leg, calling the animal. Naga looked at Jinora as if double-checking that it was safe.

"Go on," said Jinora.

And so, Amon and Naga fell into step, side-by-side, and began to walk the perimeter of the resort. Amon glanced at the animal, large enough to be lumbering, but somehow still graceful. Naga led him more than the other way around; she found a spot under a tree and curled up. Tentatively, he sat with her, leaning against her side, and reached up to scratch her behind the ear. The polar bear dog was tense at first, but soon began to relax.

"That's a girl," he said quietly, and the animal's tail began to wag, as if she liked the sound of his voice. Feeling a little self-conscious, he kept speaking: "If things go the way I hope, you and I are going to be spending a lot more time together."

Her warmth and the softness of her fur combined with his lack of sleep, coaxing his eyes closed. He folded his arms behind his head. "Can I tell you a secret, Naga? I'm going to ask Korra to marry me." He opened one eye, rolling his head to look at her face. "You've known her your whole life. Do you think she'll say yes?"

Naga stared at him, sweet but without comprehension, and he shook his head. "I must be more nervous about it than I thought, because I'm looking for words of encouragement from a dog."

A flash startled him upright. A photographer stood a few feet away, camera in hand.

"Amon," said the man, "is that the Avatar's polar bear dog? How are you back from the dead? Are the rumours that you are the Avatar's lover true?"

He closed his eyes and settled back against Naga with a sigh. "I do not comment on rumours. I might remind you that this is the day of Miss Sato and Officer Mako's wedding, and encourage you to try for candids of them rather than me."

A pencil scratched at paper, then there was a long pause. Amon opened one eye and, seeing the reporter was still there, said, "Run along."

The man looked as if he wanted to ask more questions, but then Naga began to growl, and he scurried away.

"Good girl." Beneath his closed lids, he began to see fragments from the night before. A smile stretched across his lips and his mind began to drift.

.*.*.*.

Amon awoke falling to the ground as Naga stood up behind him. He rolled to a crouch, eyes and ears alert.

"Naga," called Korra, and the polar bear dog sprinted in the direction of her voice. Amon jogged behind, slowing to a halt as the trees parted to reveal her.

Korra kissed Naga's muzzle, scratching the animal's ears, but then she noticed Amon. She stood tall, turning to face him. His breath caught in his throat. The green-and-brown dress perfectly flattered her body, the exposed shoulders showing off her muscles and the narrow waist and skirt accentuating her curves. Her sandals had a slight heel, forcing her curved calves to flex, and her toenails shone with polish.

Her face was so beautiful and intimidating that, like the night he had coaxed her out of the Avatar State, he had to force himself to look directly at her. Thick violet lined her eyes, making her blue eyes sparkle in contrast. Her cheekbones shone with blush, and her lips glistened, somehow even plumper than usual. Loose brown waves fell across her shoulders, one side pinned up by a green and gold flower with a small veil.

"How do I look?" she asked, doing a spin.

"Like a spirit." He closed the distance between them and gave a formal bow. "Avatar Korra, I am honoured to be your escort."

With a giggle, she began to pace a circle around him. "You're looking pretty good yourself, Amon. That suit shows off your shape nicely." Her hand trailed his back, and even though his body was still exhausted, he felt a rush of desire.

"I could say the same to you," he replied, giving her body a lingering gaze.

She beamed. "Shall we go? The tables are filling up, so the ceremony will be starting soon."

"I thought you would be entering with Miss Sato."

"'Miss Sato' thought it would be more appropriate if we entered with our dates." With a grin, she added, "Guess who Bolin entered with?"

Amon raised a brow. "How does Councillor Tenzin feel about that?" he asked as they began to walk, his arm looping through hers.

"He's getting a little grumpy about it. Papa bear doesn't like his cubs to grow up."

As they neared the ceremony site, the sounds of idle chatter and the soft strains of stringed instruments tightened Amon's throat. His pace slowed. Korra looked up at him, alarmed.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He hesitated. "After this, there are no more secrets. Not even rumours will shield us."

She stopped him and ran a hand along the porcelain jaw. "Are you ready for this, Amon?"

"I am ready, but I must confess that, having spent most of my life in the shadows, I don't know what to expect."

"It's going to be amazing. We won't have to skulk around anymore. I'll be able to go on real dates with you, in public."

"I'll take you to dinner, then dancing," he said, already warm to the idea. "We'll finish with a walk along the boardwalk."

"I'll finally have someone to escort me to city events and socials."

"I won't have to climb cliffs every time I want to see you."

She frowned. "Oh, I suppose you did have to do that every time you came over to the Island, didn't you? I never really thought about how you got from the beach to my room."

"You're welcome," he said dryly.

"So, you're okay with this?"

He nodded. "If you are."

With a smile, she said, "A part of me is going to miss the excitement of a secret, forbidden affair. Then the rest of me remembers what a hassle that was, all the stress and anxiety."

"We can still pretend, from time to time," he said. "For the thrill of it. I'll sneak in through your window."

They stared at each other. In the background, Amon could hear the announcer calling out names of arriving guests.

Korra finally looked down. "What if they don't understand? What if they label us both traitors?"

He covered her hand with his and squeezed. "Korra, we've battled gangs, spirits, death and ourselves to get to where we are. We have already proven ourselves as a couple, more than any of them ever have. More than any of them ever will." He brought her knuckles to his face for a porcelain kiss. "Regardless of their reaction, we will get through it. We always do."

She audibly swallowed, blinking. "Don't make me cry. It'll smudge my makeup."

With a smile, he said, "Then let's proceed."

She nodded. Their hands joined, they walked to the edge of the grass, revealing a set of granite stairs that descended to the ceremony grounds far below. A dozen circular tables lined each side of an aisle leading to a shrine; Mako and Bolin, both in suits, stood under its arch. Most of the tables were already full, the guests idly chatting.

"Ready?" he whispered, and she nodded.

They began to descend the stairs, Naga protectively at Korra's flank.

"Avatar Korra," boomed the announcer. There was a pause, then surprise in the voice: "And Amon."

Silence settled over the crowd as dozens of eyes fixed on them.

"Woohoo, Korra!" hollered Bolin, clapping. A nervous chuckle fluttered through the audience.

"Chin high," whispered Amon, noticing her wilting beside him. Her hand was clammy in his, and he gripped it tighter, focusing on keeping a steady descent.

"How long is this staircase?" she murmured. "Who builds staircases this long?"

"We could eschew dignity and run down two at a time," he suggested under his breath, and she gave a nervous laugh.

"Or ride on an air scooter." After a pause, she added, "We should have choreographed a more stunning entrance. Flipping and sparring. Really wow them."

"I think this will be memorable enough as it is. What do you think – should we kiss once we reach the bottom?"

"It might make some of the stodgier ones swoon with outrage." Her stance was confident now, as if she were forgetting her anxiety, and he felt himself relaxing as well.

The flash bulbs started to go off once they reached the bottom of the stairs, as if the reporters had finally remembered that they had cameras. Amon bowed to her, then released her hand. She surprised him by standing on her tiptoes to kiss the cheek of his mask. There were a few gasps, but a smattering of applause sounded as well. Bolin's applause was more boisterous, but Mako quickly silenced him.

Her eyes sparkling, Korra whispered, "That wasn't so bad."

He tilted his head in cordial acknowledgement. Signalling for Naga to follow him, he found his seat. The table held Midori, Selora, Lee, and the other Council members and their spouses, save for Tenzin. He nodded his hello to them, with a special wave for Selora – shy, she squirmed and beamed at him, then buried her face in Midori's arm. It warmed his heart that she already saw the Councillor as a protective figure, just a few short weeks after the adoption had been finalized.

Midori leaned toward him. "Cute."

"Indeed. I'm glad things are going so well with her; you will make an excellent mother."

"Yes I will, but I meant the lipstick on your cheek."

"Ah. Not exactly the mark of a fearsome revolutionary." He gently wet the cloth napkin at his place setting and, using the reflection of the glass, cleaned off his mask. "What are your thoughts, Midori? Will we be the talk of the town for quite some time?"

"At least until Asami walks down that aisle. I caught a glimpse of her earlier: she's stunning." She glanced at him. "You know who else would look stunning in a wedding dress?"

"Lee?"

"Korra."

"Subtle." He paused to watch the Avatar at the base of the shrine, her face glowing. His voice soft, he added, "And I agree."

"Just ask her when you're sober this time," said Midori.

Amon's eyes snapped to her. "What do you mean by 'this time?'"

She cocked her nose behind him. "Shh. They're starting."

He twisted and saw Mako walking back down the aisle to meet the bride. Around them, the conversations ceased, letting the music rise to the forefront. The song made Amon think of a lake surrounded by glacier-capped mountains, soft and serene.

Asami stepped onto the carpet at the end of the aisle, joining arms with her husband-to-be. She looked beautiful indeed in a cream dress with gold highlights, an ornate gold-and-emerald headdress set in her dark hair.

Yet Amon found his eyes drawn back to Korra. Her eyes locked with his, and she smiled.

He patted the velvet box in his pocket, his heart pounding.

The bride and groom reached the shrine, standing before a priest dressed in ceremonial fire nation robes, black, red and gold. Jinora and a woman Amon didn't recognize – she looked so much like Hiroshi that she must have been a Sato – approached with chalices. The priest rambled on about the union of flames and nurture and other grandiose descriptions that made Amon's mind drift. He had always preferred the concrete to the abstract. He jumped, startled back to himself, as the priest lit both chalices on fire. Mako directed the resulting burst of flames, twisting them together into a single column, before they dissipated. The couple accepted the chalices and raised them to each other's lips, taking a large swig while the crowd applauded.

Then the priest stepped aside, and a new one dressed in Earth Kingdom robes stepped forward. This time, Korra and Bolin stood in stance on either side of the couple and thrust up pillars of earth, arching them over the couple like a roof. The priest spoke at length of the symbolism of home and family and rooting each other to the ground.

Lee leaned over. "Twice the culture, twice the boredom," he whispered. Midori raised a brow at him, and the earth and fire councillors at the table looked offended, but Amon chuckled.

The priest finished by sprinkling sacred soil on the feet of the bride and groom, then Korra and Bolin lowered the earthen roof. At last, the couple refilled their chalices, and the wedding party began to visit tables for toasts.

Amon looked up, startled, as a server set a giant pot of dumplings in the centre of the table. He looked quizzically at Lee, who was right at home, already helping himself to a bowlful.

"The Earth Kingdom does weddings right," said Lee. "Save room. It's going to be a long feast."

Amon raised a brow as it came to his turn to serve himself. Gold flakes were sprinkled on the dough, and the symbol for longevity had been branded on it with some sort of red sauce. A tentative taste revealed it as fire flake sauce. The insides of the dumplings were filled with sweet meat and tender mushrooms. He realized that he hadn't eaten since the night before, and his stomach growled with anticipation.

Two more courses – a crispy rice soup and a skewered meat dish – were served before the wedding party arrived at their table. They stood as the couple approached, Korra and Bolin behind them. The couple began to circle the table, greeting the guests one at a time.

When Mako reached Amon, the officer cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming."

Amon clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm aware that you pulled some strings with my legal charges, Officer Mako. I am grateful."

The man shrugged. "Councillor Midori and Chief Beifong had the stronger influence. And Asami." Mirroring Amon's posture, he added, "Ultimately, your actions have allowed us to arrest or identify the highest-ranking members of the Red Monsoons, so I should be thanking you. Just don't cause any more trouble for this city."

"I don't intend to," replied Amon with a cordial bow.

Asami was next; she beamed at him. "I saw you and Korra enter together. I think the dozens of jaws hitting the ground actually caused a minor earthquake."

"I hope not," he replied. "I've had quite enough of earthquakes for one lifetime. Congratulations, Miss Sato."

"Thank you for coming." She dipped her head and continued.

Bolin stood awkwardly in front of Amon. "Uh," he said, holding out a hand. "Put 'er there?"

Cocking his head, Amon complied.

"Look," said Bolin. "I just want you to know that Korra's really happy to be with you, so I'm happy for you, too. Even though the first time I met you was when you were trying to take my bending and all. I mean, she must know what she's doing. She's pretty special. So treat her right."

"I intend to."

"Good. Well, we're kind of like a little family, the four of us. So I guess...welcome to the family."

Amon was surprised that the awkward statement made him choke up a little. Not trusting his voice, he bobbed his head instead.

Then Bolin darted away, and Korra stood before him.

"Hi," she said, giving a soft hiccup. He raised a brow behind his mask.

"How are you holding up?"

"They're making me drink a lot." She was swaying in her stance. "There are still so many tables. Why are there so many tables?"

"A toast," called Mako, and Asami held out the chalice. Korra groaned as she took it.

"To peace, prosperity and good fortune for our city," said Mako.

"To me not falling over," muttered Korra as she took a gulp.

Amon lifted his mask to drink from his goblet, and by the time he had lowered it again, she had already been whisked away to the next table.

.*.*.*.

The toasts continued until the last dish was served several hours later. Then, while Asami disappeared to change into a red dress, Korra was left to accept all toasts in her absence. She tried to space them apart by sipping instead of gulping, but even then, her head spun. Her eyes slipped closed for what she thought was a second.

"Korra," said Amon's voice.

She opened her eyes. He stood before her, holding out a hand. She clung to it.

"What's going on?" she slurred.

The mask smirked, but she could tell by his eyes that he was giving her a kind smile. "The flying of the lanterns. Come. Miss Sato and Mako are making the opening speech."

She glanced around her, and saw that the tables were already empty. Hurrying into place beside Amon, she strained her ears to try to catch the speech.

The guests were gathered at a cliff overlooking the ocean; it was darker here, but the guests carried small paper lanterns that glowed with light in a rainbow of colours.

"-in memory of those who could not be here," Asami was saying. Korra glanced around, and saw tears sparkling on cheeks in the lantern-light.

Amon led her to the end of the row.

"We don't have lanterns," she said, but he held up his free hand. Three paper lanterns hung from his finger: a simple red one, an ornate blue one, and a small one with fine silver swirls.

"I hope you don't mind," he whispered. "I took the liberty of choosing."

"-in memory of Mako's parents," said Asami, letting a large multicoloured lantern fly over the edge of the cliff. It hovered on the strong breeze, delicately floating toward the ocean.

"In memory of Asami's parents," said Mako, releasing a second, his voice catching.

"Hiroshi is not dead," whispered Amon.

"He might as well be," said Korra, a bit too loudly for the circumstances, but no one around them seemed to notice.

"And now," said Asami, "we invite you to honour your lost alongside ours."

Amon held out the smallest lantern. "Would you like to fly one?"

"I'd be honoured." She accepted it, then pointed to each of them in turn. "Your father, mother and sister?"

He shook his head no. "This one is for all three," he said, holding out the red one. Holding up the ornate blue one, he added, "This one is for Tarrlok."

"Tarrlok?"

He nodded. "If it weren't for him, we never would have tried to ally in the first place, never would have entered that cave together. And working with him showed me that the three of us had more in common than I expected."

Recalling the vision she had seen in the other world, of the way she had nearly killed Tarrlok before he defended himself, she couldn't disagree.

Holding up the smallest lantern, she said, "And this one?"

He turned his head, looking across the sea.

"Amon?"

"For the child we lost."

A sudden rush of tears blurred her vision, choked her throat.

"We never said a proper goodbye," he said softly. "I thought it might be appropriate."

She stood on her toes to kiss the cheek of his mask. "Thank you." A bit hesitant, she said, "Would you be offended if I used firebending to light these?"

When his head shook no, she lit the small lantern and held it over the cliff. She was surprised by the turmoil of emotions in her stomach. Amon moved to stand behind her, his warm body flat against her back. He looped one arm around her waist and his other hand joined with hers as they held out the lantern together.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"Yes." His voice rumbled through her.

Together, they dropped the lantern. The scent and smoke of incense made the air so heavy that Korra expected the lantern to sink, but it sailed freely on the current, carried over the water with the others, a single star in an enormous constellation.

"Safe travels, little one," said Amon, and Korra leaned back against him for strength. His hand clamped onto her shoulder, securing her.

"Now the other two," she said, her voice cracking. He held out Tarrlok's, as ostentatious as he had been, and she lit it; together, they set it free. Finally, the one for Amon's family. He squeezed her so tightly that she struggled to breathe, but she didn't stop him, knowing that he needed her support.

Together, they watched the lanterns drift. The earliest ones winked out as they sank to the ocean.

"I'm sorry I never got to know your family," she said.

His arms wrapped around her. "I didn't really get to, either. But I have Midori and Lee. And you." He rested his chin on her head. "And maybe one day, we'll have a family of our own."

Her heart pounded as she closed her eyes, safe in his embrace.

.*.*.*.

As the last alcohol was served, fireworks exploded overhead, heralding the wedding party's departure. Amon stared up at the explosions, red and green and blue. It was wrong to have a wedding without dancing, he decided. At his wedding, there would be dancing, regardless of tradition.

Tradition also dictated that the celebration would continue late into the night, the aftermath of the ceremony being an auspicious place to form business contacts. While he knew he should be making connections to plan for his school, he was too exhausted to have the patience for it. After the third conversation filled with pleasantries and small talk, he excused himself and climbed the stairs back to the resort.

The sound of raucous laughter and splashes greeted him. He rounded the corner to see the wedding party in the central hot spring in their undergarments. Korra was twisted in a column of water, deliberately spraying Mako, Jinora and Bolin. Asami sat on the edge, still in her red dress from the lantern release, her ankles dangling in the pool.

"Amon!" Korra waved, then lost her balance and fell back into the spring with an enormous splash. She stood up, sputtering.

"Come on in," called Bolin.

"He won't; he's too stuffy," said Korra too loudly, her words tripping over one another. "You know the second day we were trapped in that cave, he took a bath fully clothed? And he wouldn't even let me bend the water off him, either. Sat the whole day in wet clothes. Smelled like wet polar bear dog." She turned to Naga, who lay safely on the patio of a nearby hut. "No offense."

Naga huffed.

"And then I rescued you from your own stupidity, I might remind you," he said dryly, remembering holding her after she collapsed.

"Stupidity?" said Mako. "Our Korra?"

She let out a drunken giggle and splashed her friend. "Don't listen to anything Amon says about that night. He's still bitter that I turned him on so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Amon stopped on the deck near Asami and pulled his suit over his head, neatly folding it.

"Oh come on. I was right on top of you." With a whisper that was somehow as loud as a yell, she said, "I could feel it."

"Perhaps this line of discussion isn't appropriate, Korra."

"No, this is interesting," said Jinora, paddling closer to the Avatar. "I've always wondered what happened in that cave. You never would talk about it."

"Sex," replied the drunken Avatar. "Lots and lots of sex."

Amon let out a low sigh and pressed his forehead into his palm.

"But you two hated each other," said Bolin, clearly leading her.

She held up a finger. "Children, gather round for the story of how two enemies found love. And sex."

Folding his pants, Amon set them on top of his suit and lowered himself into the spring, clothed only in his mask and undergarments. "How much has she had to drink?" he asked Asami.

She leaned back on her palms, her eyes sparkling at him. "Maybe a glass, tops," she whispered.

He cocked his head, confused.

"There was no alcohol in my chalice," she said, placing a hand on her stomach. He felt a pang in his heart, feeling his own loss, but he smiled at the same time.

"I see. I assume congratulations are in order?"

"Thanks. We haven't told the rest of them yet. Want to keep it under wraps for a bit longer."

"Understood." He glanced at Korra. "So, she has convinced herself that she's drunk, but she's actually sober?"

Asami grinned.

He shook his head. "Heartless."

"I can't tell her now," she protested. "It'll embarrass her."

In the silence that followed, Korra's voice echoed against the buildings around them: "-so he's lying there bleeding, barking at me not to use bending even though he's going to die without it-"

Amon lifted himself out of the water. "I have a secret I can share with you as well, Miss Sato," he said quietly, hoping her reaction would let him know whether or not his plan was foolish. Keeping his back to Korra, he retrieved the velvet box from his pocket and passed it to Asami. When she opened it, her eyes lit up.

"Do it now," she whispered.

He shook his head. "This is a day for you and Mako. I planned to wait until tomorrow, at least."

Asami's eyes narrowed and she thrust the box back into his hands. "Don't be ridiculous. We don't own this day, and the setting is perfect."

His heart raced as he considered.

Korra's voice boomed, "So he's all over me, pawing at my breasts and grinding against my back, but suddenly he pushes away and starts accusing me of trying to seduce him. Like it's somehow all  _my_  fault."

He quickly shoved the box back into the pocket of his folded suit, then hopped into the water and swam toward her.

"After I kick his ass, he has a change of heart and suddenly we're frantically making out-" said Korra.

He caught her shoulder. "As entertaining as your exaggerated rendition is, my love, I think it's time for me to give you the gift of sobriety."

"But it's just about to get to the good part," said Jinora.

"You can make me sober?" asked Korra, eyes wide.

"The power of chi points." He pressed his thumbs into the tip of her nose, laying his fingers along her temples. "Close your eyes and count to three."

As she complied, he drummed his fingers along the sides of her head.

"Open them," he said.

She blinked, suddenly steady on her feet. "My head is so clear. That's amazing."

Amon turned to Asami, who was grinning at him with great conspiracy; he shook his head.

"And here I was enjoying the story," said Bolin.

"He only stopped her because he's embarrassed," said Mako. "I bet he's blushing under that mask."

He was, but not for the reason they thought. With a glance back at his suit, Amon said, "Korra, would you like to accompany me for a walk?"

.*.*.*.

Hand in hand, they left the spring. Korra followed, curious where he was taking her, and cocked a brow when he led her back to their room. She wasn't going to complain.

Once they were inside, Amon stopped and turned to face her. He gripped both of her hands, but he couldn't look her in the eye.

"Are you all right?" she asked, worried that her drunken behaviour in the spring had offended him.

"There are very few times in my life when I have been at a loss for words," he said softly. "And every single one of them has occurred in your presence."

"Yes, you're really stumbling over yourself there."

She heard a soft chuckle. He pushed his mask onto his head, revealing his face, skin orange in the dim lamplight.

"I have a gift for you." Releasing her hands, he pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket and presented it in his palms. "I know the last gift I gave you is associated with negative memories, so I wanted you to have something new."

Korra swallowed hard as she accepted the box. "Amon, you didn't have to-"

"I know." His eyes were earnest. "Please: open it."

She complied, and then clapped a hand over her mouth.

Nestled in the paper was a broad blue band with a circular pendant. She lifted it, her thumb tracing the fine detail on the flat stone. Three spirals: the symbol of air.

"I know it's a bit of a departure from tradition, using airbender symbolism on a water tribe necklace." Amon's voice was soft. "It seemed the most appropriate: the element that linked our fates. The piece of you that was inside me; the piece of me that is inside you."

Her vision blurred, and Korra blinked, trying not to let her tears spill over. "This is the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen. Did you make it?"

"Yes. I had one of the artisans at the market show me how – I know the spirals are a little misshapen, but-"

"No, it's perfect." The thought of him painstakingly carving and painting it made her heart race.

He gave her a gentle smile. "The property I'm purchasing for the school has a full house upstairs, and a large yard that would be perfect for Naga. I don't know how soon you wish to live together, but my home is open to you when you are ready. It should be serviceable until we can build a house of our own together."

She tried to respond, but her throat was too tight.

Amon continued, "I know things haven't been easy for us, and I'm not saying we have to get married this year, or next, or even the one after that. There is no hurry: we will take the time we need to do this right. But we have seen that our journeys always have been, and always will be, intertwined. This necklace is my promise to you that I will be at your side, every step of the way, guiding you and letting you guide me. It is my promise that I am committed to you. To us." He stepped forward, his hands cupping the bottoms of hers, the necklace crowning the union of their hands. "Marry me, Korra."

"Yes," she said, breathless, and she saw his rare broad grin, the one that showed his beautiful straight teeth, for just an instant before he kissed her. When he pulled away, her lips tingled.

"Will you help me put it on?" she asked.

He closed his eyes to give her a nod that was almost a bow. She moved to the mirror over the desk. As he stood behind her and fastened it into place, she was struck by how right it felt, as if her neck had been empty and alone, waiting for this necklace. Her hand rose to feel the smooth surface of the pendant. A wave of giddiness washed over her.

"How do I look?" she asked, catching his gaze in the mirror.

Amon's smile was broad and his eyes were soft, proud. His arms encircled her and he pulled her back against him, resting his chin on top of her head. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Korra."

Her cheeks turned purple. "Well, then." She tilted her head back for an awkward, upside-down kiss. Even though the movement cranked her neck, she let the kiss linger, her tongue sliding across his teeth. She hummed, pleased, as he pulled away.

"We should celebrate this arrangement," she said. "By consummating it."

"What if I'm still drained from last night?"

She spun. "So you just proposed marriage and committed your life to me – the biggest turn-on of all time – and you're not going to take advantage of my quivering loins?"

"Quivering loins?"

Enjoying teasing him, she continued. "Or you could just do that quick jabbing thing like you did last night and relieve a bit of my tension-" Her sentence ended in a yelp as he lifted her hips and slammed her onto the desk, then threw her legs apart.

.*.*.*.

Amon sat up with a yell, his heart pounding in his chest, hands clutching the sheets. Beside him, Korra stirred.

"A nightmare?" she murmured.

He nodded, swallowing hard, and spooned behind her. He draped an arm around her to touch her pendant, tracing the spirals to sooth himself. "I saw my death."

"Your death?" She rolled to face him, suddenly awake. "Like we saw in the other world?"

"It was different this time."

Her eyes searched his. "Did you kill me?"

"No." Already, the dream was sifting from his memory. The more he tried to recall it, the more he forgot, until all he could remember was the sense of calmness, of pride. "I think... I think it was a good death." He kissed her forehead. "I think we're on the right path this time, Korra."

With a smile, she snuggled under his chin. "And we're going to stay on it."

"Yes," he said. "Always."

 


	17. Epilogue: Always

**Epilogue**

**Always**

"I'm going in," yelled Korra, turning to face the fray.

"Wait." Amon stopped and whirled, catching her arm. "I'm coming with you."

Korra's eyes, still as blue and defiant as the day they had met, locked onto his. "No. It's too dangerous, Amon."

He heard the unspoken words:  _You are retired now. You are too old to fight._ He would have argued, but behind him, he heard his eldest daughter yelling at them:

"Mom. Dad. Hurry!"

He whirled to see that she was waiting for them in the road. Two of his grandchildren ran past her, dodging among the falling bombs and burning houses.

"Protect them," whispered Korra, her voice hoarse. She stood on her tiptoes and lunged for him, shoving his mask above his lips and pressing her mouth firmly to his.

For a moment, there were no explosions, no yells, just the warmth of her mouth. He sank into it and gripped the back of her greying hair, pulling her against him, until she broke away.

"I'll come back to you," she said. "I promise." Her eyes flared white, and then she turned away.

"Dad, come on!" called his daughter. He ran for her.

The world exploded around them. Amon caught his daughter's arm and dove behind a crumbling wall. He flattened her to the pavement, shielding her with his body. Another bomb exploded, the force of it rocking the ground. Dirt and mud caked them. Once the echo of the blast faded, machine gun fire filled the air.

Amon lifted his head. Far in the distance, he could barely see the rest of his extended family through the dust and smoke, running to safety.

The woman groaned beneath him. "Dad?" She sat up. "The kids - where are they?"

"They escaped. Stay flat against the wall." He raised himself just enough to peer over it, ignoring the aching creak in his knees.

Korra stood in the centre of the battlefield in full Avatar State, her eyes glowing white. Spiritual wind whipped her long hair and blue dress around her muscled frame. Her air shield deflected the guns, and she redirected a stray shell that was plummeting toward the ground, sending it into the mountainside instead. United Republic Forces were scattered around her, frantically trying to maintain a semblance of formation amid the chaotic attack. They had been caught flat-footed. Amon gritted his teeth.

"I should heal the injured," said his daughter.

He shook his head. "You need to get to safety." Another wave of airplanes dove at the city, and he shoved her down by the shoulder. "Stay down."

Bombs. So many bombs. He knew he should seek shelter, too, but he couldn't tear his eyes off his beloved wife. She was using all four elements to deflect, block and redirect the bombs, but there were too many. Hundreds.

Only one bomb got past her, but it was enough.

There was a flash and a shock of heat so blistering that Amon instantly remembered the day eighty years prior, the day his family had died. When the smoke cleared, Korra lay on the ground. In spite of the distance between them, he could see shards of silver shrapnel in her chest and neck, blood pooling around the cuts.

The glow faded from her eyes and she turned to look at him. Even across the battlefield, he could see her lips move:

"I'm sorry."

Amon held her gaze, his heart in his throat, as he realized what had happened: she had intentionally buried the Avatar State so that she would not end the cycle when she died.

"No!" He vaulted over the wall, ignoring his daughter's yells, and bolted into the battlefield. He had lost a lot of speed with age, but not his agility, and he darted around small explosions and ducked beneath streams of bullets, only taking a few in the shoulder. They slowed him, and he grunted, hobbling, but did not stop. He would not stop until he reached her.

When he finally arrived at Korra's side, he could tell she was already gone. He scooped her up and slung her over his good shoulder. By the time he had returned to his daughter, tears were streaming down his face. He slid behind the barrier and cradled Korra to his chest. Her blue eyes, once so vibrant, so vivid, stared blankly at him.

"Korra, my love," he whispered. His eyes snapped to his daughter. "Can you save her?"

The woman was already holding glowing blue hands over the wounds, eyes damp. "Dad, she's gone."

The words sparked recognition in him. Grains of sand ran together in his mind, forming the memory of a dream once forgotten.

A growing calmness filled him as he realized what came next.

He smoothed the mask off of his face and then clutched his daughter's hand, staring intently into her blue eyes, so like her mother's. "Listen to me, Katara. Bringing someone back from death requires more energy than one body can muster: it is upsetting the balance, and so has a heavy cost. You must use my energy. Channel it into her body to bring her back."

Horrified, she tried to jerk her hand away, but he clenched it. "Listen," he said earnestly. "Your healing has surpassed that of any bender known to history, even your namesake, so if anyone can do this, it is you. I have seen this done by the spirits, and even more, I have seen you do it before, in a vision. It will work. I know you can do this. This moment was foretold years before your birth. It is your destiny to save the Avatar, to use me to do so."

"Daddy, no..." At the childish plea, his heart broke. "Don't ask me to do this. Don't-"

He released her hand to run his knuckles along her chin. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, my dear. I really am. But we both know that the Avatar is more important to the world than any one person: she is our only chance to win this war. Besides..." He lay his cheek against Korra's forehead, which was still deceptively warm. "This is a debt decades old, one I have always expected to repay. The time has come."

He gripped his daughter's wrist and pressed her palm against his forehead. "I love you, Katara, and I am so proud of everything you have become. Never forget that."

The woman sobbed and closed her eyes, turning her head away. Her hand began to glow, and he felt his body begin to wilt beneath her touch. He had always wondered how he would face his own death - with fear, or anger, or panic - but he only felt a sense of great peace. He had already died twice in his lifetime; what was a third?

He pressed his nose into Korra's hair. "I promise you," he murmured as he felt his energies begin to ebb, "My search for you will begin the instant I am reborn. I promise that when my soul finds yours again, I will never leave your side." His eyes, too fatigued to stay open, slid closed. He smiled, embracing the glowing white that was fogging his vision. "I love you, Avatar Korra."

The last thing he heard was the gasp of air rushing into her lungs as she jolted to life in his arms. **  
** **  
**.*.*.*. ****  


When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by violet fog, his guardian spirit standing before him. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore it was smiling.

"Are you ready for your next adventure, little one?"

"Will I find the Avatar again?" he asked.

"Always," replied the spirit, already beginning to fade. "It is your destiny. But the context will be up to you."

Then he was alone.

Memories of other lifetimes seeped into his mind. He recalled waiting here, in this spot, lifetime after lifetime, seeking a body of immense strength and power, one that would allow him to rule. To dominate.

Not this time.

"I am Amon," he said. "Who crossed into this plane to save the Avatar. Who knows his own darkness, but instead followed the light. That is the path I choose."

He felt a pull. It was time to leave.

"I will see you in the next lifetime, my love," he whispered, and then he smiled and closed his eyes.

Glowing white light engulfed his soul.

.*.*.*.

_The infant squalled with such vigour that the physician gave a surprised laugh. "Watch out for this one. He has something to say."_

_As if to remind them of where they were, the shelter was rocked_ _by the sounds of bombs, barely muted by the earth around them._

_"Born in a time of strife_ _," said the elderly man from the corner of the shelter. "Just like his great-uncle Rohan." He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his tattooed head. "Boy, was that inconvenient. Bet_ _ween the Equalists and the police force, we didn't think he'd have a world to grow up in."_

_"Maybe it's a sign," said the proud father, swaddling the infant and handing it to his beaming wife. "Maybe, like Great-Uncle Rohan, like our ancestors before him, he's destined to fight for peace in this world."_

_"You'd better believe it," said the elderly man. "I'll train him personally, whether he's an airbender or not." Leaning over the infant, he said, "Trust in your Grandpa Meelo, kid. I see great things for you."_

_"Then I have the perfect name for him," said the mother. "Hamal. It means, 'one who is willing to work hard for the sake of hope.'"_

_"Hamal," repeated his father. "Yes: that's perfect." He kissed the infant on the head. "Welcome to the world, little one. We're glad you're here. Your life is full of possibility."_

**x.**


End file.
